GIRD you no more at poets; they have sought To utter the unutterable joy; The gesture breaks the dream, acts ruin thought Whose colour is debased with gross alloy. A leaping horse, a sea-pool clear and cold, Night or her stars have not yet found a name; The rose is barbarous yet, and who has told The frightful grandeur of a leaping flame? Men have grown used to glory, let it pass In powerless lassitude, vain, oh, vain! Are swept with beauty as the wind the grass, Drink and are silent as the rose the rain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAMPUS SONNET: RETURN - 1917 by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE RAINY SEASON by CLARENCE MAJOR ADELAIDE AND JOHN WILKES BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO MILITARY PROGRESS by MARIANNE MOORE DEXTER GORDON: COPENHAGEN/AVERY FISHER HALL by KAREN SWENSON |