O thou who sittest with the wise, And searchest higher lore, And openest regions to their eyes Unvisited before! I'd run to loose thee if I could, Nor let the vulture taste thy blood. But, pity! pity! Attic bee! 'Tis happiness forbidden me. Despair is not for good or wise, And should not be for love; We all must bear our destinies And bend to those above. Birds flying o'er the stormy seas Alight upon their proper trees. Yet wisest men not always know Where they should stop or whither go. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS; OR, NATURAL THEOLOGY IN THE ISLAND by ROBERT BROWNING SONNETS TO LAURA IN LIFE: 131 by PETRARCH AMORETTI: 70 by EDMUND SPENSER THE TRAGEDY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH EPITAPH ON MR. VAUX, THE PHYSICIAN by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) VILLANELLE OF THINGS AMUSING by FRANK GELETT BURGESS |