O Sophocles, I would know Greek for thee And pluck my honey from the comb the bees From sweet Hymettus stored, where sunny seas Murmur the measures that are joy to me. I see the gods reign in thy tragedy: They walk the earth and whisper in the breeze, Thy world is full of God and suppliant knees And righteousness controlling destiny. But our sad times at higher beings flout; We do not snatch from heaven to feed the soul, We cannot find a God in anything. So blind we do not see our torch is out, Our torch of poesy. The rich-wrought bowl We clasp and grope along, but cannot sing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BROTHERHOOD (2) by EDWIN MARKHAM WHEN DE CO'N PONE'S HOT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR BANTAMS IN PINE-WOODS by WALLACE STEVENS THE LEPER by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE TO THE VERS LIBRIST WHO USES ONLY THE MINOR KEY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |