MAN is no mushroom growth of yesterday. His roots strike deep into the hallow'd mould Of the dead centuries; ordinances old Govern us, whether gladly we obey Or vainly struggle to resist their sway: Our thoughts by ancient thinkers are controll'd, And many a word in which our thoughts are told Was coined long since in regions far away. The strong- soul'd nations, destin'd to be great, Honour their sires and reverence the Past; They cherish and improve their heritage. The weak, in blind self-trust or headlong rage, The olden times' transmitted treasure cast Behind them, and bemoan their loss too late. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST MAN'S CLUB by JAMES GALVIN TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE by BEN JONSON FESTE'S SONG (1), FR. TWELFTH NIGHT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AT THE CARNIVAL by ANNE SPENCER THE STOLEN CHILD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS OTHER SPRINGS by ROSEMARY BASEFLUG |