WHILE poring Antiquarians search the ground Upturned with curious pains, the Bard, a Seer, Takes fire: -- The men that have been reappear; Romans for travel girt, for business gowned; And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned, In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear, As if its hues were of the passing year, Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that mound Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins, Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil: Or a fierce impress issues with its foil Of tenderness -- the Wolf, whose suckling Twins The unlettered ploughboy pities when he wins The casual treasure from the furrowed soil. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WANDERER: A ROCOCO STUDY (FIRST VERSION) by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS DUTY SURVIVING SELF-LOVE; THE ONLY SURE FRIEND OF DECLINING LIFE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE HAUNTED OAK by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM by GEORGE FREDERICK ROOT THE MOUNTAIN TOMB: 1. TO A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS FRAGMENT by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE WOUND by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |