@3Gale of the night@1 our fathers call'd thee, bird! Surely not rude were they who call'd thee so, Whether mid spring-tide mirth thy song they heard Or whether its soft gurgle melted woe. They knew not, heeded not, that every clime Hath been attemper'd by thy minstrelsy; They knew not, heeded not, from earliest time How every poet's nest was warm'd by thee. In Paradise's unpolluted bowers Did Milton listen to thy freshest strain; In his own night didst thou assuage the hours When Crime and Tyranny were crown'd again. Melodious Shelley caught thy softest song, And they who heard his music heard not thine Gentle and joyous, delicate and strong, From the far tomb his voice shall silence mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HE GOADS HIMSELF by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ULTIMA THULE: THE TIDE RISES by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW LAUS VENERIS (A PICTURE BY BURNE-JONES) by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON IN THE WATER by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS A CONCEPTION by DAISY MAUD BELLIS THE UNSEEN WORLD by CRAVEN LANGSTROTH BETTS TO THE LORD LOVE (AT THE APPROACH OF OLD AGE) by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY |