(TO A. T. SCHUMANN) In dreams I crossed a barren land, A land of ruin, far away; Around me hung on every hand A deathful stillness of decay; And silent, as in bleak dismay That song should thus forsaken be, On that forgotten ground there lay The broken flutes of Arcady. The forest that was all so grand When pipes and tabors had their sway Stood leafless now, a ghostly band Of skeletons in cold array. A lonely surge of ancient spray Told of an unforgetful sea, But iron blows had hushed for aye The broken flutes of Arcady. No more by summer breezes fanned, The place was desolate and gray; But still my dream was to command New life into that shrunken clay. I tried it. Yes, you scan to-day, With uncommiserating glee, The songs of one who strove to play The broken flutes of Arcady. ENVOY So, Rock, I join the common fray, To fight where Mammon may decree; And leave, to crumble as they may, The broken flutes of Arcady. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COMIN' THRO' THE RYE by ROBERT BURNS THE BRONCHO THAT WOULD NOT BE BROKEN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY ALEC YEATON'S SON; GLOUCESTER, AUGUST, 1720 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MEMORY'S DOOR by MARY OTTO ASHER CHARACTERS: MARY HOLLAND ENFIELD by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |