IT is no dream! yet haunting visions come, Most like remembrance, to my troubled mind, Thoughts that I cannot crush or fling behind, Of some old grouped trees, and cottage home, And hills, which in a boyhood I did roam The livelong summer day: I cannot find Realities for things like these, which bind My heart into a strange belief of some Life before living. Does the spirit sleep, Since 'tis immortal, until tardy fate Shuts it within this frail and wayward heap Of clay? Or, as the wise of old relate, Are Lethe's waters not too dull or deep, To quench all memory of a former state? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY THURSDAY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 44 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME by EZRA POUND GOOD-NIGHT TO THE SEASON by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED TO HIS DEAD BODY by SIEGFRIED SASSOON PETER QUINCE AT THE CLAVIER by WALLACE STEVENS ST. SIMEON STYLITES by ALFRED TENNYSON |