As some vast tropic Tree, itself a Wood, That crests its Head with clouds, beneath the flood Feeds its deep roots, and with the bulging flank Of its wide Base controlls the fronting bank, (By the slant current's pressure scoop'd away The fronting Bank becomes a foam-piled Bay) High in its Fork the uncouth Idol knits His channel'd Brows: low murmurs stir by fits: And dark below the horrid Faquir sits; An Horror from its broad Head's branching Wreath Broods o'er the rude Idolatry beneath. -- | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT by JOHN HENRY NEWMAN FOR MY OWN TOMBSTONE by MATTHEW PRIOR BREAK, BREAK, BREAK by ALFRED TENNYSON ARMSTRONG'S GOOD NIGHT by THOMAS ARMSTRONG VARIATIONS ON A THEME by ALFRED GOLDSWORTHY BAILEY VERSES: THE SEVENTH BOY by JOHN BYROM TO C. LLOYD, ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE AUTHOR by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ON THE EXCELLENT POEMS OF MY MOST WORTHY FRIEND, MR. THOMAS FLATMAN by CHARLES COTTON |