Heavenly Archer, bend thy bow; Now the flame of life burns low, Youth is gone; I, too, would go. Ever Fortune leads to this: Harsh or kind, at last she is Murderess of all ecstasies. Yet the spirit, dark, alone, Bound in sense, still hearkens on For tidings of a bliss foregone. Sleep is well for dreamless head, At no breath astonished, From the Gardens of the Dead. I the immortal harps hear ring, By Babylon's river languishing. Heavenly Archer, loose thy string. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAIRY CHILD by JOHN ANSTER OZYMANDIAS REVISITED by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP GARDEN FANCIES: 1. THE FLOWER'S NAME by ROBERT BROWNING JABBERWOCKY by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON THE MEDAL; A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION by JOHN DRYDEN |