He heard a music that he could not snatch From moods' and muses' fitful higher flight. He wrote the lower strains his ears could catch; But in despair, his name he would not write. He died. His sweet unfathered songs survived, True, human voices of the life that is. Men praised: but only knew the name contrived To hide a grave's enduring melodies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO W.P.: 4 by GEORGE SANTAYANA ON LIVING, FROM LIFE IS A DREAM by PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA THE WHITE HOUSE by CLAUDE MCKAY THE WANING MOON by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE SONG OF AMORGEN by AMORGEN; AMERGIN GLUINGEI; |