@3How well could I have spared for thee, young swain,@1 Words of immortal grief rise up unbidden— @3Enow of such@1 as on whose necks have ridden Worse and more spiritual foes, Fear, grovelling Gain, Sloth and the siren Senses, that make vain God-given hands and eyes: from whom is hidden The light whereby men live, though not unchidden Inly they be, nor without flash of pain When nobler natures fall. The weak are left, Their fight unfought, their arm our insecure, Their foe but gaining on them till the end: And yet 'twas these thou wouldst at need defend, O arm that for our sake wouldst all endure, O strength whereof we are most ill bereft. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN MALINDY SINGS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TO MY NOSE by ALFRED HENRY FORRESTER MY LITTLE DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE RUNES ON WELAND'S SWORD by RUDYARD KIPLING THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH by WALT WHITMAN ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS' LOVE LETTERS by OSCAR WILDE |