WHERE are thy splendors, Dorian Corinth? Where Thy crested turrets, thy ancestral goods, The temple of the blest, the dwellings of the fair, The high-born dames, the myriad multitudes? There's not a trace of thee, sad doomed one, left; By ravening war at once of all bereft. We, the sad nereids, offspring of the surge, Alone are spared to chant the halcyon's dirge. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ENGLISH GRAVEYARD IN MALACCA by KAREN SWENSON ST. FRANCIS EINSTEIN OF THE DAFFODILS (FIRST VERSION) by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS FONTENOY by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS DAMON THE MOWER by ANDREW MARVELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELSA WERTMAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MY VERY PARTICULAR FRIEND by MARIA ABDY |