SING, poets, as ye list, of fields, of flowers, Of changing seasons with their brilliant round Of keen delights, or themes still more profound -- Where soul through sense transmutes this world of ours. There is a life intense beyond your powers Of utterance, which the ear alone has found In the aerial fields of rhythmic sound -- The inviolate pathways and air-woven bowers Built by entwining melodies and chords. Ah, could I find some correspondent sign Matching such wondrous art with fitting words! But vain the task. Within his hallowed shrine Apollo veils his face. No muse records In human speech such mysteries divine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN FLANDERS FIELDS by JOHN MCCRAE TO A LADY: SHE REFUSING TO CONTINUE A DISPUTE WITH ME by MATTHEW PRIOR THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 8. THE CABLE HYMN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE BREAKING by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON THE LAY OF THE LEVITE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE PILGRIM by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |