THE cold limbs of the air Brush by me on the hill, Climb to the utmost crag, Leap out, then all is still. Ah, but what high intent In the cold will of wind; What sceptre would it grasp To leave these dreams behind! Trail of celestial things: White centaurs, winged in flight, Through the fired heart sweep on, A hurricane of light. I have no plumes for air: Earth hugs to it my bones. Leave me, O sky-born powers, Brother to grass and stones. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES BY CLAUDIA by EMILY JANE BRONTE FROM THE DARK TOWER by COUNTEE CULLEN HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW; IN MEMORIAM by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON WERE I BUT HIS OWN WIFE by ELLEN MARY PATRICK DOWNING A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 2 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN TO LUCASTA, [ON] GOING BEYOND THE SEAS by RICHARD LOVELACE EPIPSYCHIDION by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY STANZAS ADDRESSED TO SOME FRIEND GOING TO THE SEA-SIDE by BERNARD BARTON |