O that the pines which crown yon steep Their fires might ne'er surrender! O that yon fervid knoll might keep, While lasts the world, its splendor! Pale poplars on the breeze that lean, And in the sunset shiver, O that your golden stems might screen For aye yon glassy river! That yon white bird on homeward wing Soft-sliding without motion, And now in blue air vanishing Like snow-flake lost in ocean, Beyond our sight might never flee, Yet forward still be flying; And all the dying day might be Immortal in its dying! Pellucid thus in saintly trance, Thus mute in expectation, What waits the earth? Deliverance? Ah no! Transfiguration! She dreams of that 'New Earth' divine, Conceived of seed immortal; She sings 'Not mine the holier shrine, Yet mine the steps and portal!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 5. MARYLAND by CLARENCE MAJOR COUNTRYWOMEN by KATHERINE MANSFIELD WHAT AILS THIS HEART O'MINE? by SUSANNA BLAMIRE THE YELLOW VIOLET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT BROTHERS by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: A DEAD STATESMAN by RUDYARD KIPLING TO A CHILD OF QUALITY, FIVE YEARS OLD. THE AUTHOR THAN FORTY by MATTHEW PRIOR |