With a pickaxe strong and rude, I will mine for solitude. Rock as tough as any sin, I will sink a shaft therein, Down below the steady beat Of the horses' iron feet, Far below the street-car bell, Factory whistle, newsboys' yell; Where the clatter of the dray Long ago dissolved away; Where the faintest whir and hum Of the city never come. Deep, ah! deep the shaft shall sink Where the tortured brain may think, Nevermore compelled to fear Pert frustrations of the ear. Far my eager pick shall press Galleries of quietness, Veins of silence to explore, Rich in many a precious ore. Ah, the thoughts I shall refine From the caverns of that mine! Yet, alas! I know full well In my subterranean cell I shall hardly have the time To achieve a single rhyme Till a rush, a roar, a din On that calm will clatter in. It will be the strain and stress Of the new Direct Express, By the antipodean way, From New York to Mandalay! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: THE VERDICT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PARIS IN SPRING by SARA TEASDALE CORIDON'S SONG (IN ISAAK WALTON'S 'COMPLEAT ANGLER') by JOHN CHALKHILL IN MEMORY OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 101 by ALFRED TENNYSON TO A SQUIRREL AT KYLE-NA-NO by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |