I sit beside Lethean streams, And in that ghostly tangle Of quaint and ill-assorted dreams Fantastically angle. The wand of memory is my rod, My hook is old affection, With which I keep extracting odd Phantoms of recollection. The creatures glisten in the wave And magically quiver; But, once ashore, what charm they have Is apt to fade forever. And yet the future is so dark And grimly unalluring That I fish on, and scarce remark The failures I'm securing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME' by ROBERT BROWNING TO MAKE A PRAIRIE by EMILY DICKINSON SEVEN TIMES SEVEN [- LONGING FOR HOME] by JEAN INGELOW AN ELEGY: TO AN OLD BEAUTY by THOMAS PARNELL FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: MAN'S GUARD AGAINST DEATH by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |