Go feed the flames your torches lit with wonders Art has won From visions sprung from vintages whose tang is of the sun; Pile on the poems dreamers writ when dawn was in the sky, For what is born of wine at morn is only fit to die! To ashes change the images carved by the hands that knew Both cutting-tool and drinking-cup and ever loved the two; Feed to the fire the canvases whose beauty came from eyes That caught the gleam in Burgundy when purple bubbles rise! Burn column, arch and pinnacle, burn transept, altar, spire, For wine went to their rearing, and their doom must be the fire! And music? It must perish, for the master-singers knew The vine's the soul of music, and they flourished where it grew! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GARDEN SONG by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON UPON THE IMAGE OF DEATH by ROBERT SOUTHWELL IDYLLS OF THE KING: PELLEAS AND ETTARRE by ALFRED TENNYSON THE DAY-DREAM: MORAL by ALFRED TENNYSON SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 11. THE GREEK POET IN ENGLAND by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TO A CHILD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |