Alas! for our ancient believings, We have nothing now left to believe; The oracle, augur, and omen No longer dismay and deceive. All hush'd are the oaks of Dodona; No more on the winds of the north, As it sways to and fro the huge branches, The voice of the future comes forth. No more o'er the flow'r-wreathed victim The priest at the red altar bends; No more on the flight of the vulture The dark hour of vict'ry depends. The stars have forgotten their science, Or we have forgotten its lore; In the rulers, the bright ones of midnight, We question of fortune no more. O folly! to deem that far planets Recorded the hour of our birth; Too glorious they are, and too lovely, For the wo and the weakness of earth. Now the science of fate is grown lowly, We question of gipsies and cards; 'Tis a question how much of the actual The fate of the vot'ry rewards. 'Tis the same in all ages; the future Still seems to the spirit its home; We are weary and worn with the present, But happiness still is to come. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOUGH OF NONSENSE by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES WHERE THE PICNIC WAS by THOMAS HARDY ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA by HERMAN MELVILLE LINES WRITTEN IN A CITY COMPOSING-ROOM by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS VILLANELLE OF CITY AND COUNTRY by ZOE AKINS AH, HAD I SEEN THEE SOONER! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |