COLD was thy thought, O stricken son Of Italy, cold as the moon That naked, barren, frozen, on This fertile earth, the boon Of silver light Sheds by night, -- Touching the million shaken leaves That crown our woods; while every fold Of buttressed Alp soft charm receives, Till near things look like lands far sought. Yes, thy thought ached, it was so cold; And winsome movement, and choice sound, In harmonies divinely wrought, Could they be born of that profound Despair which they so clearly taught? Nay, suffering, like a nightmare still, Turned all thy youth's warm radiance chill, -- As yon dead moon turns the sun's beams Aside in cold yet lucid streams, Whose loveliness from farther came Than that dead planet's cratered side; A globe of glory all one flame Is in their brightness still implied. So in the beauty of thine odes Man's glowing eager spirit shines, While yet its strange deflection loads With added charm their play, refines Their luminous force, till they, Fair as moonlight, Infuse the night Of our roused sorrow, sadness, and Remembered pain, where they expand Brilliance, both solemn and serene, Grand as the presence of Night's queen. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VILLAGE IN LATE SUMMER by CARL SANDBURG LAMENT FOR CULLODEN by ROBERT BURNS PAST AND PRESENT by ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON BROOKLYN BRIDGE by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS SEVEN AGES OF MAN, FR. AS YOU LIKE IT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |