A WOOF reversed the fatal shuttles weave, How slow! but never once they slip the thread Hither, upon the Georgian idlers' tread, Up spacious ways the lindens interleave, Clouding the royal air since yester-eve, Come men bereft of time and scant of bread, Loud, who were dumb, immortal, who were dead, Thro' the cowed world their kingdom to retrieve. What ails thee, England? Altar, mart, and grange Dream of the knife by night; not so, not so The clear Republic waits the general throe, Along her noonday mountains' open range. Gods be with both! for one is young to know The other's rote of evil and of change. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BURIED LADY by PAUL VALERY THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS AN EPITAPH UPON HUSBAND AND WIFE WHO DIED AND WERE BURIED by RICHARD CRASHAW HOW WE BURNED THE 'PHILADELPHIA' by BARRETT EASTMAN |