In a vast city's swarming street, Where crowds sweep wave-like on, Where, if some strange, quaint sight we meet, We turn, and lo! 'tis gone; I saw a face that moved my heart, That haunts my memory yet, Its phantom never can depart, Although but once we met. I may not tell the wretchedness That glared from out its eyes; Touched by its silent, sore distress, I could not check my sighs. He passed, men muttered, and I heard His life's eventful tale— What marvel if my soul was stirred That stranger to bewail? A Poet once—his magic strains Through Italy had rung, And with wild music pierced the brains And hearts of old and young. He had sung Love, Liberty, and Light, And, by some weird control, Had troubled, as an Angel might, The waters of each soul. And now he treads the crowded street, A care-worn pauper old— White-haired, ill-clad in summer's heat, Ill-clad in winter's cold. Methought, that Bard, bowed down and weak, Was like some leafless vine, Which, storm-tossed, on a hill-side bleak, And white with snow, doth pine; While the rich juice that from it ran, Like song from a Poet's heart, Cheers, warms and fires the souls of men In climes that oceans part! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER TWO YEARS by RICHARD ALDINGTON THE GOLDEN CORPSE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THEN AND NOW by CECIL DAY LEWIS |