Whether, like Shelley, he is glorious youth; Or, like Euripides, singing in old age Great dreams, the poet guards the flame of truth; He feeds it with his love, his faith, his rage, That his own epoch and the years to come Might rise beyond dwarfed lusts, and that all men, Roused by his music, by the lofty drum Of his far prophecies, might revive again Our deepest hope, and our unconquered vision: And though men do not often understand, Drowning the first notes in confused derision, The poet lifts his liberating hand And in the light of dawn or darkest night Speaks truth until his hair grows winter-white. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST MAN: A CROCODILE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES NOEL: CHRISTMAS EVE, 1913 by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES ABOU BEN ADHEM by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT RODGERSON'S DOUG by WILLIAM AITKEN THE COO OF THE CUSHAT by ADA CAMBRIDGE |