To bear up under such a load, ah Sisyphus, I need your heart: for though the will apply its goad yet Art is long, and Time is short. Far from the tombs of wealth and fame, to a graveyard that lies apart goes, like a muffled drum, my heart beating a dead march without name. How many gems lie buried deep in darkness . . . in oblivion sleep far from a pick or plummet's sound! How many flowers to sorrow bloom ... pour, like a secret, sweet perfume unknown in solitary ground. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BROKEN PITCHER by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN ON A CARRIER WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON CARILLON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CRADLE SONG (TO A TUNE OF BLAKE'S): 2 by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |