This is he, who, felled by foes, Sprung harmless up, refreshed by blows: He to captivity was sold, But him no prison-bars would hold: Though they sealed him in a rock, Mountain chains he can unlock: Thrown to lions for their meat, The crouching lion kissed his feet: Bound to the stake, no flames appalled, But arched o'er him an honoring vault. This is he men miscall Fate, Threading dark ways, arriving late, But ever coming in time to crown The truth, and hurl wrong-doers down. He is the oldest, and best known, More near than naught thou call'st thy own, Yet, greeted in another's eyes, Disconcerts with glad surprise. This is Jove, who, deaf to prayers, Floods with blessings unawares. Draw, if thou canst, the mystic line Severing rightly from thine, Which is human, which is divine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIXTEEN DEAD MEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE HOMERIC HEXAMETER [DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED] by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE OLD SHIPS by JAMES ELROY FLECKER WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY THE FRAILTY AND HURTFULNESS OF BEAUTY by HENRY HOWARD A CANADIAN BOAT SONG; WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE by THOMAS MOORE |