Be still. The Hanging Gardens were a dream That over Persian roses flew to kiss The curled lashes of Semiramis. Troy never was, nor green Skamander stream. Provence and Troubadour are merest lies, The glorious hair of Venice was a beam Made within Titian's eye. The sunsets seem, The world is very old and nothing is. Be still. Thou foolish thing, thou canst not wake, Nor thy tears wedge thy soldered lids apart, But patter in the darkness of thy heart. Thy brain is plagued. Thou art a frighted owl Blind with the light of life thou'ldst not forsake, And Error loves and nourishes thy soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MAN WITH THE HOE OUTWITTED by EDWIN MARKHAM OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON ON A LADY WHO FANCIED HERSELF A BEAUTY by CHARLES SACKVILLE (1637-1706) LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE by ALFRED TENNYSON FOOTLIGHT MOTIFS: 2. PHOEBE FOSTER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE SECOND CANTO, OR FIRST QUARTER by WILLIAM BASSE |