Then the Lark, his singing on a sudden done, Fell through crystal sunrays to his twilight bed; Then the woods as sharp and carved as Parthenon Stood before charmed eyes for ever; time was dead. Now is haste returned; the striding fury flings That mad mantle abroad, and foots both Pole and path. Swarming grasses hiss: pursue wild beaks and wings; The clods roll their brown heads, all Golgotha in wrath. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON DEATH, WITHOUT EXAGGERATION by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA MARIA WENTWORTH by THOMAS CAREW THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON by GEOFFREY CHAUCER PROGRESSIVE HEALTH by CARL DENNIS SARRAZINE'S SONG, FR. CHAITIVEL by MARIE DE FRANCE THE ENTHUSIAST by HERMAN MELVILLE |