The Abbey broods beside the turbid Thames; Her mother heart is filled with memories; Her every niche is stored with storied names; They move before me like a mist of seas. I am confused, and made abash'd by these Most kingly souls, grand, silent, and severe. I am not equal, I should sore displease The living. . . dead. I dare not enter; drear And stain'd in storms of grander days all things appear. I go! but shall I not return again When art has taught me gentler, kindlier skill, And time has given force and strength of strain? I go! O ye that dignify and fill The chronicles of earth! I would instil Into my soul somehow the atmosphere Of sanctity that here usurps the will; But go; I seek the tomb of one -- a peer Of peers -- whose dust a fool refused to cherish here. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIS GRANGE, OR PRIVATE WEALTH by ROBERT HERRICK GLOIRE DE DIJON by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE FOR A MARRIAGE OF SAINT KATHERINE [OR, CATHERINE] by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI ON THE DEATH OF A METAPHYSICIAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA A MARLOW MADRIGAL by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY FIRST SAMUEL: AFTER THE SHAMANS by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |