How sad that all great things are sad -- That greatness knows not to be glad. The boundless, spouseless, fearful sea Pursues the moon incessantly; And Caesar childless lives and dies. The thunder-torn Sequoia tree In solemn isloation cries Sad chorus with the homeless wind Above the clouds, above his kind, Above the bastioned peak, above All sign or sound or sense of love. How mateless, desolate and drear His lorn, long seven thousand year! My comrades, lovers, dare to be More truly great than Caesar; he Who hewed three hundred towns apart, Yet never truly touched one heart. The tearful, lorn, complaining sea The very moon looks down upon, Then changes, -- as a saber drawn; The great Sequoia lords as lone As God upon that fabled throne. No, no! True greatness, glory, fame. Is his who claims not place nor name, But loves, and lives content, complete, With baby flowers at his feet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAMENT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON LINES WRITTEN IN AN OVID by MATTHEW PRIOR AN ARAB WELCOME by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE GIAOUR; A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. DISENTANGLEMENT by EDWARD CARPENTER THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF, OR THE LADY IN THE ARBOUR; A VISION by GEOFFREY CHAUCER MOAN ON THE PRARIE by MARY F. COCHRANE |