@3How well could I have spared for thee, young swain,@1 Words of immortal grief rise up unbidden— @3Enow of such@1 as on whose necks have ridden Worse and more spiritual foes, Fear, grovelling Gain, Sloth and the siren Senses, that make vain God-given hands and eyes: from whom is hidden The light whereby men live, though not unchidden Inly they be, nor without flash of pain When nobler natures fall. The weak are left, Their fight unfought, their arm our insecure, Their foe but gaining on them till the end: And yet 'twas these thou wouldst at need defend, O arm that for our sake wouldst all endure, O strength whereof we are most ill bereft. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE SOUR READER by ROBERT HERRICK CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNET: 97 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE JOB 14. JOB'S ENTREATY by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THINGS OF CLAY by GAMALIEL BRADFORD |