THE odor of a rose: light of a star: The essence of a flame blown on by wind, That lights and warms all near it, bland and kind, But aye consumes itself, as though at war With what supports and feeds it; -- from afar It draws its life, but evermore inclined To leap into the flame that makes men blind Who seek the secret of all things that are. Such weft thou, Shelley, bound for airiest goal: Interpreter of quintessential things: Who mounted ever up on eagle-wings Of phantasy: had aimed at heaven and stole Promethean fire for men to be as gods, And dwell in free aerial abodes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BALLAD OF WHITECHAPEL by ISAAC ROSENBERG DEATH SNIPS PROUD MEN by CARL SANDBURG HENRY MOORE'S STATUE AT LINCOLN CENTER by KAREN SWENSON BIRCH STREAM by ANNA BOYNTON AVERILL ON THE ORIGIN OF EVIL by JOHN BYROM ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |