WHEN I attain to utter forth in verse Some inward thought, my soul throbs audibly Along my pulses, yearning to be free And something farther, fuller, higher, rehearse, To the individual, true, and the universe, In consummation of right harmony: But, like a wind-exposed distorted tree, We are blown against for ever by the curse Which breathes through Nature. Oh, the world is weak! The effluence of each is false to all, And what we best conceive we fail to speak. Wait, soul, until thine ashen garments fall, And then resume thy broken strains, and seek Fit peroration without let or thrall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER by THOMAS HOOD SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE OUTLAW by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 7 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH THE OLD MAN'S DARLING by PHOEBE CARY PROSPECT by THOMAS CURTIS CLARK |