I FAIN would leave the tender songs I sang to you of old, Thinking the oft-sung beauty wrongs The magic never told. And touch no more the thoughts, the moods, That win the easy praise; But venture in the untrodden woods To carve the future ways. Though far or strange or cold appear The shadowy things I tell, Within the heart the hidden seer Knows and remembers well. I think that in the coming time The hearts and hopes of men The mountain tops of life shall climb, The gods return again. I strive to blow the magic horn; It feebly murmureth; Arise on some enchanted morn, Poet, with God's own breath! And sound the horn I cannot blow, And by the secret name Each exile of the heart will know Kindle the magic flame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CITY AT THE END OF THINGS by ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN THE INDIAN SERENADE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY MANNERLY MARGERY, MILK AND ALE by JOHN SKELTON GOD SAVE THE NATION! by THEODORE TILTON WINGS AT DAWN by JOSEPH AUSLANDER IN JUNIOR YEAR by WILLIAM GRANT BARNEY |