NOT a dread cavern, hoar with damp and mould, Where I must creep, and in the dark and cold, Offer some awful incense at a shrine That hath no more divine Than that't is far from life, and stern, and old; But a bright hilltop in the breezy air, Full of the morning freshness high and clear, Where I may climb and drink the pure, new day, And see where winds away The path that God would send me, shining fair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON NAMES by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE IN THE GOLD ROOM by OSCAR WILDE BOUTS RIMES IN PRAISE OF OLD MAIDS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TO MISS RIGBY, ON HER ATTENDANCE UPON HER MOTHER AT BUXTON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |