THE soul is ever clinging unto form; Action, not abstract thought, alone can warm The great heart of Humanity -- in life's fierce storm Pass they the Lyrist by. The Dramatist may wear triumphant bays; And see the wondering people's tranc'd amaze, The while unrolls great Homer to their gaze, His gorgeous, many-coloured tapestry. But lofty Pindar's heaven-directed flight, Petrarca's song, mystic and sad as night, Fall dull upon the common ear -- their might Is to the world a mystery. Such spirits dwell but with the spiritual -- Their godlike souls disdaining to enthrall; Within the limits of the actual, Men pass, unheeding the divinity. Their name, indeed, is echoed by the crowd; But from amidst the masses earthward bowed, Few lift the head, with kindred soul endowed, To list their Orphic melody. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THERE WILL BE STARS by SARA TEASDALE A WAR SONG TO ENGLISHMEN by WILLIAM BLAKE SABBATH HYMN ON THE MOUNTAINS by JOHN STUART BLACKIE EURYDICE by FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE THRESHOLD by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE FOUR WINDS by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT |