THOU, who, in thine own bitter words, didst keep A burning heart amid the eternal snows, -- Say, whether in the garth of death there grows A herb to staunch thy grief and yield thee sleep. Breathe gentlier, gentlier there! oh slumber deep No more the fangs of fruitless longing close Fast in that flesh from which the life-blood flows, Back from that brow the clouds of torture sweep. Beyond the lot of man thou sufferedst pain; But thy great spirit, through the winnowing fire, Like noblest metal from a raging pyre, Ran, liquid light, a stream of sparkling rain, Indomitably daring, gold of brain Fused from the ore of torments gross and dire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 110. THE OASIS OF SIDI KHALED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE MOUSE by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH THE CULPRIT FAY by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE TWICE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE BABY'S DEBUT, BY W. W. by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839) TO A CHILD OF THREE YEARS OLD by BERNARD BARTON LINES ADAPTED TO A FAVOURITE MILITARY AIR by JAMES HAY BEATTIE |