GRANT me the Muse, ye gods! whose humble flight Seeks not the mountain-top's pernicious height; Who can the tall Parnassian cliff forsake, To visit oft the still Lethean lake; Now her slow pinions brush the silent shore, Now gently skim the unwrinkled waters o'er, There dips her downy plumes, thence upward flies, And sheds soft slumbers on her votary's eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HE RULETH NOT THROUGH HE RAIGNE OVER REALMES by THOMAS WYATT THE VOICE OF THE GRASS by SARAH ROBERTS BOYLE ON A LUTE FOUND IN A SARCOPHAGUS by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE IN THE VALLEY OF THE ELWY by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS WORKING GIRLS by CARL SANDBURG THE SONG OF THE MOUTH-ORGAN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE THE SPIRIT OF THE TIMES by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |