NOT beauty which men gaze on with a smile, Not grace that wins, no charm of form or hue, Dwelt with that scene. Sternly upon my view, And slowly, -- as the shrouding clouds awhile Disclosed the beetling crag and lonely isle, -- From their dim lake the ghostly mountains grew, Lit by one slanting ray. An eagle flew From out the gloomy gulf of the defile, Like some sad spirit from Hades. To the shore Dark waters rolled, slow heaving, with dull moan; The foam-flakes hanging from each livid stone Like froth on deathful lips: pale mosses o'er The shattered cell crept, as an orphan lone Clasps his cold mother's breast when life is gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GRANDFATHER'S LOVE by SARA TEASDALE THE WIDOW'S MITE by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON THE LADY POVERTY by ALICE MEYNELL MY MOTHER by FLORENCE R. ANDREWS ANNA BULLEN, ACT 1: SHORT CURSE by JOHN BANKS (17TH CENTURY-) THE VAICES THAT BE GONE by WILLIAM BARNES ETHELWALD, FR. METRICAL HISTORY OF ST. CUTHBERT by BEDE AN EPILOGUE TO THE STEALING OF DIONYSOS: IACHOS SPEAKING by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |