As some vast tropic Tree, itself a Wood, That crests its Head with clouds, beneath the flood Feeds its deep roots, and with the bulging flank Of its wide Base controlls the fronting bank, (By the slant current's pressure scoop'd away The fronting Bank becomes a foam-piled Bay) High in its Fork the uncouth Idol knits His channel'd Brows: low murmurs stir by fits: And dark below the horrid Faquir sits; An Horror from its broad Head's branching Wreath Broods o'er the rude Idolatry beneath. -- | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO-NIGHT by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON AT THE CEDARS by DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT THE LAMENT OF JUDAH by MARY ELIZABETH BROOKS THE WERE-WOLVES by WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL LIFE AND DEATH by CARROLL CARSTAIRS |