A volant Tribe of Bards on earth are found, Who, while the flattering Zephyrs round them play, On '''coignes of vantage''' hang their nests of clay; How quickly from that aery hold unbound, Dust for oblivion! To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye; Convinced that there, there only, she can lay Secure foundations. As the year runs round, Apart she toils within the chosen ring; While the stars shine, or while day's purple eye Is gently closing with the flowers of spring; Where even the motion of an Angel's wing Would interrupt the intense tranquillity Of silent hills, and more than silent sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE BOY LOST, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE MEN AND BOYS by KARL THEODORE KORNER ON RECEIVING [THE FIRST] NEWS OF THE WAR by ISAAC ROSENBERG CIGARS AND BEER by GEORGE ARNOLD ONLY THE HEART IS HAUNTED by VERNE BRIGHT |