IT is but open the door of this walled den, And there wait gleaming majesty and God; Only to cease this mechanism of men, And take one step, one glance upon the road. Uncottage then, desire, arise, dark love, And in an instant sparkle to those signs; There burn the eyes of Constancy above, On that most ancient brow care leaves no lines. This we have heard, and still might gladly prove, But in life's anagram of mood engrossed, Still tracing silhouettes of hate and love, And grudging consummations planned but lost, Our souls have fouled the key to that great sight: Enough for us to lantern our own night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VISIONS: 5 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 13 by ALFRED TENNYSON TWELVE SONNETS: 1. THY SWEETNESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) IDYLL 2. EROS AND THE FOWLER by BION THE ETERNAL TRIANGLE by EMMA BOWERS ANNE HATHAWAY'S GARDEN by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR THOUGHTS ON IMPUTED RIGHTEOUSNESS by JOHN BYROM |