If hope of a laurel of undiscovered growth, O lyre, wakes you wholly when I sing, Still shall I remember my due troth To those of whom I pluck the olden string. When Phœbus with his long and fiery spears Flames behind a hillock, forest-browed, It is a potent sun that still appears In the crest of an oak tree, mantled with a cloud. Thus, noble lyre, as of old you soared, From age to age, as deft hands swept the chord More golden and more glorious your chants. And that I may be with the Muses blent Ronsard, guiding the flame Apollo sent, With eagle-thunderings rekindled France. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COMPANIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPRINGTIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHEN I AM DEAD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ON VIOLET'S WAFERS, SENT ME WHEN I WAS ILL by SIDNEY LANIER BONNYBELL: THE BUTTERFLY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IPPOLIT KONOVALOFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |