We are the deathless dreamers of the world. Errant and sad, our argosies must go On barren quests and all the winds that blow Lure us to battle where tall seas are hurled. When over us the last ninth wave has curled, We are renascent still. The gods bestow Madness that lifts us on the ebb and flow. The flags of our defeat are never furled. We were not born to find the golden fleece, Or win some white queen's love, or storm the stars. Yet, by great Pan, we were not born for peace! One prize is ours -- beauty, time shall not slay: Terrible beauty from disastrous wars, Mystical beauty from the realms of fey. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALL FOOLS' CALENDER by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON THE FLAME LIGHTS UP by DAVID IGNATOW STREET-CRIES: 2. THE SHIP OF EARTH by SIDNEY LANIER SENRYU: BLIND DATE by TIMOTHY LIU STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 3. WASHINGTON, D.C. by CLARENCE MAJOR |