Ye with your phantom bows, and sinews straining Toward Life's mute priestess hid behind her shield, Base loves have puffed the fire wherethrough ye wield Beauty to loose the shafts that should be raining Thick on her targe, and to a furious feigning Is the proud passion of your blood congealed. Like frustrate flames ye poise, and hold the field Through love's long sleep, of life no conquest gaining. There, in your rearward, Age contorted tries At last to bend true beauty to his power, Lacking the arrows of his youth's bright dower Who might have loosed them on an high emprise. Here, by base uses of your noblest hour Transfixed, ye strain, and still no arrow flies! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN AGES OF MAN, FR. AS YOU LIKE IT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SONG by FRANCOIS JOACHIM DE PIERRE DE BERNIS THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: THE LAST MESSAGE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE BRIGS OF AYR by ROBERT BURNS PASSAGES FROM A POEM: THE NEW WORLD by WITTER BYNNER NUNC ET CAMPUS, ET AREAEUM ... by JOHN BYROM DREYFUS by FLORENCE EARLE COATES |