Away from sorrow! Yes, indeed, away! Who said that care behind the horseman sits? The train to Paris, as it flies to-day, Whirls its bold rider clear of ague fits. Who stops for sorrows? Who for his lost wits, His vanished gold, his loves of yesterday, His vexed ambitions? See, the landscape flits Bright in his face, and fleeter far than they. Away! away! Our mother Earth is wide; And our poor lives and loves of what avail? All life is here; and here we sit astride On her broad back, with Hope's white wings for sail, In search of fortune and that glorious goal, Paris, the golden city of our soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTER TO MAXINE SULLIVAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO FLUSH, MY DOG by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING GROWING OLD by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE TO MY MOTHER SLEEPING by MARY RUSSELL MITFORD SONNETS FROM SERIES RELATING TO EDGAR ALLEN POE: 1 by SARAH HELEN POWER WHITMAN THE LAST MAN: LIFE'S UNCERTAINTY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES PSALM 103 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |