IT is but open the door of this walled den, And there wait gleaming majesty and God; Only to cease this mechanism of men, And take one step, one glance upon the road. Uncottage then, desire, arise, dark love, And in an instant sparkle to those signs; There burn the eyes of Constancy above, On that most ancient brow care leaves no lines. This we have heard, and still might gladly prove, But in life's anagram of mood engrossed, Still tracing silhouettes of hate and love, And grudging consummations planned but lost, Our souls have fouled the key to that great sight: Enough for us to lantern our own night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR COUNTRY'S CALL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH by WILLIAM COWPER WINTER'S EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL MUTABILITY (2) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY MANHATTAN ARMING by WALT WHITMAN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 62. AL-MUMIT by EDWIN ARNOLD THE VALLEY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE FIAMMETTA: SONNET. OF HIS LAST SIGHT OF FIAMMETTA by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO |