ART has her altars and her avatars, Makers of Beauty worship at her shrine; Earth may not daunt a soul that scans the stars And wets the lips with more than mortal wine. Imagination's frankincense and myrrh Bedew the dust and sweeten common day; The poet walks in meadows lovelier Than ours, and visions light his wandering way. Once having known the ecstasy of these, Once having glimpsed that high supernal gleam, A Sappho sings across the centuries, A Poe sleeps, folded in that perfect dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE KING OF SPAIN by MAXWELL BODENHEIM BERTHA IN THE LANE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ON FIRST ENTERING WESTMINSTER ABBEY by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY YARROW VISITED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH AUTUMN WOODS by ANNA M. ACKERMANN THE LESSER BEAUTY by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON PEACE QUATRAIN by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN AN ELEGY ON SIR THOMAS OVERBURY; POISONED IN THE TOWER OF LONDON by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |