It can not be, the baffled heart, in vain, May seek, amid the crowd, its throbs to hide; Ten thousand other kindred pangs may bide, Yet not the less will our own griefs complain. Chained to our rock, the vulture's gory stain And tearing beak is every moment rife, Renewing pangs that end but with our life. Thence bursteth forth the gushing voice of song, The soul's deep anguish thence an utterance finds, Appealing to all hearts: and human minds Bow down in awe: thence doth the Bard belong Unto all times: the laurel steeped in wrong Unsought is his: his soul demanded bread, And ye, charmed with the voice, gave but a stone instead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE BEING by HAYDEN CARRUTH NAMING FOR LOVE by HAYDEN CARRUTH WAITING IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL by CLARENCE MAJOR A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1839) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AT SAGAMORE HILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: FINDING OF THE BODY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DR. SCUDDER'S CLINICAL LECTURE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |