Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE TENT, by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Why should a man raise stone and wood Last Line: The homeless ocean-foam! Alternate Author Name(s): Houghton, 1st Baron; Houghton, Lord Subject(s): Tents | ||||||||
WHY should a man raise stone and wood Between him and the sky? Why should he fear the brotherhood Of all things from on high? Why should a man not raise his form As shelterless and free As stands in sunshine or in storm The mountain and the tree? Or if we thus, as creatures frail Before our time should die, And courage and endurance fail Weak Nature to supply; -- Let us at least a dwelling choose, The simplest that can keep From parching heat and noxious dews Our pleasure and our sleep. The Fathers of our mortal race, While still remembrance nursed Traditions of the glorious place Whence Adam fled accursed, -- Rested in tents, as best became Children, whose mother earth Had overspread with sinful shame The beauty of her birth. In cold they sought the sheltered nook, In heat the airy shade, And oft their casual home forsook The morrow it was made; Diverging many separate roads, They wandered, fancy-driven, Nor thought of other fixed abodes Than Paradise or Heaven. And while this holy sense remained, 'Mid easy shepherd cares, In tents they often entertained The Angels unawares: And to their spirits' fervid gaze The mystery was revealed, How the world's wound in future days Should by God's love be healed. Thus we, so late and far a link Of generation's chain, Delight to dwell in tents, and think The old world young again; With Faith as wide and Thought as narrow As theirs, who little more From life demanded than the sparrow Gay-chirping by the door. The Tent! how easily it stands, Almost as if it rose Spontaneous from the green or sand, Express for our repose: Or, rather, it is we who plant This root, where'er we roam, And hold, and can to others grant, The comforts of a home. Make the Divan -- the carpets spread, The ready cushions pile; Rest, weary heart! rest, weary head! From pain and pride awhile: And all your happiest memories woo, And mingle with your dreams The yellow desert glimmering through The subtle veil of beams. We all have much we would forget -- Be that forgotten now! And placid Hope, instead, shall set Her seal upon your brow: Imagination's prophet eye By her shall view unfurled The future greatnesses that lie Hid in the Eastern world. To slavish tyrannies their term Of terror she foretells; She brings to bloom the faith whose germ In Islam deeply dwells; Accomplishing each mighty birth That shall one day be born From marriage of the western earth With nations of the morn! Then fold the Tent -- then on again; One spot of ashen black, The only sign that here has lain The traveller's recent track: And gladly forward, safe to find At noon and eve a home, Till we have left our Tent behind, The homeless ocean-foam! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAITH HEALER COME TO RABUN COUNTY by DAVID BOTTOMS THE TENT ASTRONOMER by DAVID BOTTOMS OMAR, THE TENTMAKER by OLIVER MURRAY EDWARDS THE SCHEIK OF SINAI IN 1830 by FERDINAND FREILIGRATH A BOY'S TENT by MALLEVILLE HALLER LITTLE GREEN TENTS by WALT MASON AT HIS WINTRY TENT by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY INITIATION by LAURENT TAILHEDE COLUMBUS AND THE MAYFLOWER by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES |
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