HERE is strength, here, In my own breast: If I go whining to the Earth and the stars, And beseech help of a sweet invisible one in the air about me, Let me also go where I belong: Among children and invalids. Off with this habit of sickness! Let me puff out my cheeks and blow away the vapors of sadness and downheartedness! The erect pride shall beget a manner of triumph: And the bugle of that manner shall call out the regiments of my tented soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TO JOHN DONNE (2) by BEN JONSON LINES by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SEADRIFT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE MOUNT OF OLIVES, SELECTION by ANEIRIN PSALM 45 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |