I HUNG My verses in the wind, Time and tide their faults may find. All were winnowed through and through, Five lines lasted sound and true; Five were smelted in a pot Than the South more fierce and hot; These the siroc could not melt, Fire their fiercer flaming felt, And the meaning was more white Than July's meridian light. Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor time unmake what poets know. Have you eyes to find the five Which five hundred did survive? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BERENICE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE by THOMAS GRAY SONG: THE STRICKEN DEER by THOMAS MOORE ROBINSON CRUSOE by MOTHER GOOSE LOVE: AN ELEGY by MARK AKENSIDE |