"DEAD is old Greece," they mourned ere yet arose This Greek -- this oak of old Achaian graft Seed-sown where westward tempests wept and laughed, As now when some great gust of heaven blows From lair levantine. How the giant grows! -- Not to lone ruin of a withered shaft, But quaffing life in every leafy draught, -- Fathered by Storm and mothered by Repose. Nay, doubt the Greeks are gone till, this green crest In splendor fallen, round the wrack shall be Prolonged, like memories of a noble guest, The phantom glory of the actor's day. Then, musing on Olympus, men shall say The myth of Jove took rise from lesser majesty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOLACE by CLARISSA SCOTT DELANY AT THE CEDARS by DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT I DID NOT ASK OF LIFE by ALICE BAKER THE LAST DEMAND by FAITH BALDWIN WOODEN WHEELS by LOWELL C. BALLARD OUR BE'THPLEACE by WILLIAM BARNES |