GRANT me the Muse, ye gods! whose humble flight Seeks not the mountain-top's pernicious height; Who can the tall Parnassian cliff forsake, To visit oft the still Lethean lake; Now her slow pinions brush the silent shore, Now gently skim the unwrinkled waters o'er, There dips her downy plumes, thence upward flies, And sheds soft slumbers on her votary's eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHAPE OF THE CORONER by WALLACE STEVENS THE BEGGAR'S HOLIDAY, FR. BEGGAR'S BUSH by JOHN FLETCHER A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 63 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN OF THE DAY ESTIVALL by ALEXANDER HUME THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 34. THE DARK GLASS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI TO GERMANY by CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY THE FLAT-HUNTER'S WAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |