Then the Lark, his singing on a sudden done, Fell through crystal sunrays to his twilight bed; Then the woods as sharp and carved as Parthenon Stood before charmed eyes for ever; time was dead. Now is haste returned; the striding fury flings That mad mantle abroad, and foots both Pole and path. Swarming grasses hiss: pursue wild beaks and wings; The clods roll their brown heads, all Golgotha in wrath. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ISN'T IT TRUE! by BERNICE GIBBS ANDERSON THE SWAN; TO VICTOR HUGO by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE PATER FILIO by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE TRUE GROUNDS OF ETERNAL AND IMMUTABLE RECTITUDE by JOHN BYROM YOUNG CHARLOTTIE by WILLIAM LORENZO CARTER |