Great mountain, swathed in blue with foamy crest Of fire, majestic as the mighty sea, Thy brother and immortal comrade close, The stars except, sole comrade fitting, equal -- Only, perhaps, as dust upon the wind Shall I behold again thy spreading might. Yet no regret is mine. I have thee in My soul, though lodgment base, where room the stars And many a tide of vestal-footed ocean. Nor waste I tears that now the Cyclops brood Is dead, and never hoarse, heroic blast Shall hurl again in white and purple yeast Odysseus and the dark-eyed mariners. Nor foe of gods nor friend thy splendor saw Than now more dark, more high majestical. Thy color of solemnity doth stain The temporal and wayward thing I house. But if, when I am sown upon the air, Another, seeing thee against the sunken sun In folds of wine-dark gauze and amethyst, Should rise to exaltation more superb Than mine, and praise with loftier flight of soul Thy splendor that to-night is all my own -- That were regret! Lend me thy purple thought, Eternal brooding vigilant, that I May counsel with my soul to rival his. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK RIDERS: 9 by STEPHEN CRANE SONNET: WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON by JOHN KEATS THE COMMON LOT by JAMES MONTGOMERY JOLLY NOSE by WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH BACCHUS AND THE FROGS by ARISTOPHANES THE WINDS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A LETTER TO A LADY; HER DESIRING AUTHOR TO POLISH POEMS OF BISHOP KEN by JOHN BYROM |