IT SHALL befall, Ere yet the wild winged droves Revisit the bare groves, That midst her wintry sleep The world's great heart shall leap At some far call. At some far call, Sets out the migrant bird; The drear dead grass is stirred, The moth its prison breaks, And each lone life partakes The life of all. Of old, as now, This was that power benign -- This was that power malign That did ordain unrest And hunger to be blest: To whom all bow. To whom all bow: -- The blossom and the sod Feel the unquiet God; Bird, beast, and thine own race Strive not before his face -- Then, strivest thou? Despair thine art! Thou canst not hush those cries, Thou canst not blind those eyes, Thou canst not chain those feet, But they a path shall beat Forth from thine heart. Forth from thine heart! There wouldst thou dungeon him, In cell both close and dim -- The key he turns on thee, And out he goeth free! Despair thine art! Thy bondslave -- no! But thou shalt wear his chain, Nor meed for toil shalt gain, But evermore be glad, Though hungering and unclad, To serve him so. Thou'lt serve him so! He goeth with thee, save Into thy quiet grave; For he was born ere thee, Nor ever shall he be With man laid low. Not then he tires, When thou art smallest dust Driven on every gust! Still round the glowing world Though thou be cold, are hurled His quenchless fires. His quenchless fires Brothers born after thee (Kin of mortality) Shall house, and welcome give; And lordless shall he live -- Lord of Desires! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 35 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING HAUNTED HOUSES by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW FRAGMENT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ON THE RANGE by BARCROFT HENRY BOAKE THE RETURN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH SONG by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON ONE WEEKEND HOME by MICHAEL BURNS |