Then the Lark, his singing on a sudden done, Fell through crystal sunrays to his twilight bed; Then the woods as sharp and carved as Parthenon Stood before charmed eyes for ever; time was dead. Now is haste returned; the striding fury flings That mad mantle abroad, and foots both Pole and path. Swarming grasses hiss: pursue wild beaks and wings; The clods roll their brown heads, all Golgotha in wrath. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TIE-DOWN OF A BONSAI by MARVIN BELL THE MERCY OF LAZARUS by STEPHEN DOBYNS WHEN THE SPEED COMES by ROBERT FROST EVERYBODY KNOWS by DAVID IGNATOW THE FEAST OF LIGHTS by EMMA LAZARUS DOMESDAY BOOK: MRS. GREGORY WENNER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NORTH WIND TO DUTIFUL BEAST MIDWAY BETWEEN DIAL & FOOT OF GARDEN CLOCK by MARIANNE MOORE |