Father! thy wonders do not singly stand, Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed; Around us ever lies the enchanted land, In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed. In finding thee are all things round us found; In losing thee are all things lost beside; Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound; And to our eyes the vision is denied. We wander in the country far remote, Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell; Or on the records of past greatness dote, And for a buried soul the living sell; While on our path bewildered falls the night That ne'er returns us to the fields of light | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FUNERAL OF YOUTH: THRENODY by RUPERT BROOKE EVENING (1) by EMILY DICKINSON AURENG-ZEBE, OR THE GREAT MOGUL: PROLOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN PRAYER OF A SOLDIER IN FRANCE by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER TO-NIGHT by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON HELIADES: ZEUS, BRAZEN THUNDER-HURLER by AESCHYLUS THE STWONEN STEPS by WILLIAM BARNES |