MARK those proud boasters of a splendid line, Like gilded ruins, mouldering while they shine, How heavy sits that weight of alien show, Like martial helm upon an infant's brow; Those borrow'd splendours, whose contrasting light Throws back the native shades in deeper night. Ask the proud train who glory's shade pursue, Where are the arts by which that glory grew? The genuine virtues that with eagle gaze Sought young Renown in all her orient blaze! Where is the heart by chymic truth refined, The exploring soul, whose eye had read mankind? Where are the links that twined, with heavenly art, His country's interest round the patriot's heart? Where is the tongue that scatter'd words of fire? The spirit breathing through the poet's lyre? Do these descend with all that tide of fame Which vainly waters an unfruitful name? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DUSK IN WAR TIME by SARA TEASDALE TO A SOLITARY DISCIPLE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE DEAD PAN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS by ROBERT BURNS A TEAMSTER'S FAREWELL by CARL SANDBURG SUNDAY MORNING by WALLACE STEVENS TWO WOMEN by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS |