A WEALTH of silence, that is all. The air Lacks life and holds no hint of tender spring, Of flowers wholesome-blowing, birds a-wing, Of any creature much alive and fair. Perchance you guess a murmur here and there Among the tomes, each book a gossip thing, And each in his own tongue -- yet slumbering Seems more the bookish fashion everywhere. But ah, could but the souls take flesh again That wrought these words, their hearts all passion-swirled, What companies would flock and fill the stage, Resuming now their old imperious reign! Knight, noble, lady, priest, the saint and sage, The valor, bloom, and wisdom of a world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EXPOSTULATION by ISAAC BICKERSTAFFE TO ROSAMONDE: A BALADE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER SUNKEN GOLD by EUGENE JACOB LEE-HAMILTON SONNET by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI WRESTLING JACOB by CHARLES WESLEY THE FOUR ZOAS: NIGHTS THE SEVENTH AND EIGHTH by WILLIAM BLAKE |