AGAIN that yellow dusk or light along The winter hills: again the trees' black claws Waiting and working by the bridge of space: Again the tower, among tombs a huge tomb; White scattered birds, a black horse in the meads, And the eel-track of the brown stream fringing by. Would understanding win herself my vote, Now, having known this crisis thirty years, She should decide me why it overwhelms My chart of time and history; should declare What in the spirit of a man long schooled To human concept and devotion dear, Upraised by sure example, undefiled By misery and defeat, still in the sun -- What stirs in him, and finds its brother-self, From that late sky. Again that sky, that tower These effigies and wizardries of chance, Those soundless vollies of pale and distant birds Have taken him, and from his whirring toils Made him as far away, as unconcerned, As consonant with the Power as its bare trees. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY SONNET: SATIRE 3. ON RELIGION by JOHN DONNE TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: AZRAEL by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 16. A FAREWELL by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE AT LORD'S [CRICKET GROUND] by FRANCIS THOMPSON QUI TRANSTULIT SUSTINET by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |