And thou, O River of To-morrow, flowing Between thy narrow adamantine walls, But beautiful, and white with waterfalls, And wreaths of mist, like hands the pathway showing; I hear the trumpets of the morning blowing, I hear thy mighty voice, that calls and calls, And see, as Ossian saw in Morven's halls, Mysterious phantoms, coming, beckoning, going! It is the mystery of the unknown That fascinates us; we are children still, Wayward and wistful; with one hand we cling To the familiar things we call our own, And with the other, resolute of will, Grope in the dark for what the day will bring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POE'S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM by JOHN HENRY BONER SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER by ROBERT BROWNING AD LESBIAM by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS SUMMER DAWN by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) IN THE ROOM by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) TO THE MAN-OF-WAR-BIRD by WALT WHITMAN |