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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
TO COWPER, by ANNE BRONTE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Sweet are thy strains, celestial bard Last Line: Oh! How shall I appear? Alternate Author Name(s): Bell, Acton Subject(s): Cowper, William (1731-1800); Poetry & Poets | |||
SWEET are thy strains, celestial Bard; And oft, in childhood's years, I've read them o'er and o'er again, With floods of silent tears. The language of my inmost heart, I traced in every line; My sins, my sorrows, hopes, and fears, Were there -- and only mine. All for myself the sigh would swell, The tear of auguish start; I little knew what wilder woe Had filled the Poet's heart. I did not know the nights of gloom, The days of misery; The long, long years of dark despair, That crushed and tortured thee. But they are gone; from earth at length Thy gentle soul is pass'd, And in the bosom of its God Has found its home at last. It must be so, if God is love, And answers fervent prayer; Then surely thou shalt dwell on high, And I may meet thee there. Is he the source of every good, The spring of purity? Then in thine hours of deepest woe, Thy God was still with thee. How else, when every hope was fled, Couldst thou so fondly cling To holy things and holy men? And how so sweetly sing, Of things that God alone could teach? And whence that purity, That hatred of all sinful ways -- That gentle charity? Are these the symptoms of a heart Of heavenly grace bereft: For ever banished from its God, To Satan's fury left? Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, If Heaven be so severe, That such a soul as thine is lost, -- Oh! how shall I appear? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ENVY OF OTHER PEOPLE'S POEMS by ROBERT HASS THE NINETEENTH CENTURY AS A SONG by ROBERT HASS THE FATALIST: TIME IS FILLED by LYN HEJINIAN OXOTA: A SHORT RUSSIAN NOVEL: CHAPTER 192 by LYN HEJINIAN LET ME TELL YOU WHAT A POEM BRINGS by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA JUNE JOURNALS 6/25/88 by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA FOLLOW ROZEWICZ by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA HAVING INTENDED TO MERELY PICK ON AN OIL COMPANY, THE POEM GOES AWRY by HICOK. BOB |
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