WHEN I consider Life and its few years -- A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; A call to battle, and the battle done Ere the last echo dies within our ears; A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears; The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat; The burst of music down an unlistening street -- I wonder at the idleness of tears. Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight, Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep, By every cup of sorrow that you had, Loose me from tears, and make me see aright How each hath back what once he stayed to weep; Homer his sight, David his little lad ! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TUNICA PALLIO PROPRIOR by MARIANNE MOORE TO JOHN DONNE (1) by BEN JONSON TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 8. DEPARTURE by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE THE PALM-TREE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SERENADE by JEAN FRANCOIS VICTOR AICARD NEXT DAY; IN THE TRAIN by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA SHADOWS ON THE WALL by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK |