THE varied colours are a fitful heap: They pass in constant service though they sleep; The self gone out of them, therewith the pain: Read that, who still to spell our earth remain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HILLS WERE MADE FOR FREEDOM by WILLIAM GOLDSMITH BROWN ODE ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB by THOMAS GRAY ON SEEING AN OFFICER'S WIDOW DISTRACTED - ARREARS OF PENSION by MARY BARBER SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS; A LEGEND OF GERMANY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM AFTERWARDS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN D.O. BARNETT by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB LINES by JESSIE GODDARD BROMAN |