I CAST this sorrow from me like a crown Of bitter nettles, and unwholesome weeds, Nursed by cold night-dews, from malignant seeds, Ill Fortune sowed, when all the heaven did frown; Its loathsome round I trample deeply down In mire and dust, to burn my brain no more; From off my brow I wipe the trickling gore, While all about me, like keen clarions blown, From breezy dells, and golden heights afar, Their stern @3reveille@1 the wild March winds sound; They wake an answering passion in my soul, Whence, marshalled as brave warriors, taking ground For noblest conflict, freed from doubt or dole, Great thoughts uprising front Hope's morning star! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST REDOUBT by ALFRED AUSTIN REMEMBRANCE by EMILY JANE BRONTE OF THE WARS IN IRELAND by JOHN HARRINGTON TO DEAN-BOURN, A RUDE RIVER IN DEVON, BY WHICH ... HE LIVED by ROBERT HERRICK THE FOUR ZOAS: NIGHTS THE SEVENTH AND EIGHTH by WILLIAM BLAKE IN MY LADY'S PRAISE by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |