Oft in our fancy an uncertain thought Hangs colourless, like dew on bents of grass, Before the morning o'er the field doth pass; But soon it glows and brightens; all unsought A sudden glory flashes thro' the dream, Our purpose deepens and our wit grows brave, The thronging hints a richer utterance crave, And tongues of fire approach the new-won theme; A subtler process now begins - a claim Is urged for order, a well-balanced scheme Of words and numbers, a consistent aim; The dew dissolves before the warming beam; But that fair thought consolidates its flame, And keeps its colours, hardening to a gem. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THIS DARK HOUSE by EDWARD DAVISON THE HIGHWAYMAN by ALFRED NOYES SCORN NOT THE LEAST by ROBERT SOUTHWELL THE WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA by ALFRED TENNYSON A SATIRE [OR, SATYR] AGAINST MANKIND by JOHN WILMOT DUSK; TO MADEMOISELLE MARIE LAURENCIN by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE |