WHOSE is the voice that will not let me rest? I hear it speak. Where is the shore will gratify my quest, Show what I seek? Not yours, weak Muse, to mimic that far voice, With halting tongue; No peace, sweet land, to bid my heart rejoice Your groves among. Whose is the loveliness I know is by, Yet cannot place? Is it perfection of the sea or sky, Or human face? Not yours, my pencil, to delineate The splendid smile! Blind in the sun, we struggle on with Fate That glows the while. Whose are the feet that pass me, echoing On unknown ways? Whose are the lips that only part to sing Through all my days? Not yours, fond youth, to fill mine eager eyes Or find that shore That will not let me rest, nor satisfies For evermore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 10. THE TOYS by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE UPON A WASP CHILLED WITH COLD by EDWARD TAYLOR TO HIS LYRE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE GLASSES AND THE BIBLE by ST. CLAIR ADAMS AT THE FUNERAL OF A MINOR POET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE DEAMON LOVER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 1. ALLAH by EDWIN ARNOLD COMFORT by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT EAST SIDE MOVING PICTURE THEATRE - SUNDAY by MAXWELL BODENHEIM |