This corpuscle that from my heart Runs to and fro and to and fro Can never guess by any art His avenue is my blood's flow, And all his personality A part, diminutive, of me. Nor does the sun that troubles but One drop of heaven with his glare Conceive his ancient golden rut To be a sheep-path down the air Traced out for him in ages flown By herded stars to him unknown. And I -- in whose celestial veins Ichored with lightning runs my course, Despite my hand upon the reins Fixed as the sun's by that dread force That thinks a thought and dreams a dream Betrayed to us but by some gleam, Some momentary pang of light Winging the cavern where we grope, That crucifies us with delight And breaks our hearts with splendid hope -- Seeing, although we cannot see, Eternal Mind's activity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON SOMETHING THAT WALKS SOMEWHERE by BEN JONSON HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 6 by EZRA POUND OUT FROM BEHIND THIS MASK by WALT WHITMAN REMEMBRANCE by EGMONT HEGEL ARENS THE THREE MUSICIANS by AUBREY BEARDSLEY |