THE fame of those pure bards whose faces lie Like glorious clouds in summer's calmest even, Fringing the western skirts of darkening heaven, And sprinkled o'er with hues of rainbow dye, Awakes no voice of thunder, which may vie With mighty chiefs' renown; -- from ages gone, In low, undying strain, it lengthens on, Earth's greenest solitudes with joy to fill, -- Felt breathing in the silence of the sky, Or trembling in the gush of new-born rill, Or whispering o'er the lake's undimpled breast Yet blest to live when trumpet-notes are still, To wake a pulse of earth-born ecstasy In the deep bosom of eternal rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 5 by CONRAD AIKEN EXPLICATION OF AN IMAGINARY TEXT by JAMES GALVIN FICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON QUESTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE CORNUCOPIA OF RED AND GREEN COMFITS by AMY LOWELL THE MAN WITH THE HOE OUTWITTED by EDWIN MARKHAM |