A RIOT-MAKER! Can the fruit Of frenzy be a gracious thing? His soul has hands; above the bruit They lift a song-bird quivering. World-wrecker! Shall he trampling go Till Beauty's drenched and lonely eyes Mourn a deserted earth? But no! Men go not down till men arise. The game is Life's. She plays to win; And whirls to dust her overlings; Her abluent winds shall spare no sin, Though hidden in the breast of kings; And Earth is smiling as she takes To her old lap their fallen bones, For down the throbbing ways there wakes The laughter of her greater sons. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BOYHOOD FRIENDS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TEARS IN SLEEP by LOUISE BOGAN ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE CAPTAIN; AFTER READING HENLEY'S INVICTUS by DOROTHEA DAY JILTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE LIGHT OF STARS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG by ALEXANDER POPE THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 52. WILLOWWOOD (4) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI MONT BLANC; LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |