In England's air the poet-heart was born, And his young fancies 'mid the city's roar Ripened,—and shook bright plumelets evermore. Yet light upon him of the world's first morn Was shed, and woods that heard Diana's horn And Grecian waves that flashed at Jason's oar Knew him. He steeped his soul in old-world lore, And met the modern gods with speechless scorn. England gave little love. She gave him flowers,— Such as her Northern meadows can supply: And just one moment's rest in first love's bowers; And glory of hill and sea and lake and sky: And lonely agonised heart-broken hours; And bitter words,—and grass wherein to die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE by WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTH BEAVER BROOK by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES AFTER CONSTRUING by ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON APPLE-BLOSSOM by MATHILDE BLIND TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. OF THE LOVE THAT YOU POURED FORTH by EDWARD CARPENTER |