MUTE are the chords And silent the lyres, Dead are the Lords, Burnt out the fires Which out of times Ancient and hoary Gave us the rhymes Freighted with glory. Yet are the soul's Secrets not spoken, Shrouded its goals, Most clues are broken, So for the sake Of the soul's keeping Poets shall wake The Muse that is sleeping. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THRENODY by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE GORSE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES by JOHN KEATS TO MY MOTHER SLEEPING by MARY RUSSELL MITFORD TO THE MEN OF KENT by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH IMAGES: 2 by RICHARD ALDINGTON FANNIE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH DOOMSDAY: TREASURES IN HEAVEN by WILLIAM ALEXANDER (1567-1640) |