I, who have listened to man's groveling prayers These age-long years, shut in this incensed gloom, And heard priests' wailings throbbing up the stairs, Have wished man dust and all the earth his tomb. For each is thinking of himself alone As pompous prayers come tumbling from his lips -- No far horizons stretch from zone to zone, Not one will reach beyond his finger-tips. Is there no out-of-doors where man can breathe A whiff of cleanness for his lungs . . . and soul? Can sun and stars and mountain-heights bequeath None of their calm, point out no lofty goal? Man harries gods for one poor little crumb, And I have spoken who so long was dumb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 6 by JAMES JOYCE SCHOOLS OF LITTLE FISH by MARVIN BELL TRIFLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 2 by CLARENCE MAJOR ADELAIDE AND JOHN WILKES BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PICKING AND CHOOSING by MARIANNE MOORE |