THOU hast thy calling to some palace-floor, Most gracious singer of high poems! where The dancers will break footing, from the care Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more. And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear To let thy music drop here unaware In folds of golden fulness at my door? Look up and see the casement broken in, The bats and owlets builders in the roof! My cricket chirps against thy mandolin. Hush, call no echo up in further proof Of desolation! there's a voice within That weeps ... as thou must sing ... alone, aloof. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON DEATH, WITHOUT EXAGGERATION by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA HOLY CROSS DAY by ROBERT BROWNING SHADOWS: 2 by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD by JOHN HENRY NEWMAN THE EBB AND FLOW by EDWARD TAYLOR |