Is there no Homer for the age of gold? No Pilgrim pen to trace the tragedy Of social "Paradises Lost" and gained, And marshal nations in a grand review? Not mine the golden pen immersed in light To trace fair Truth upon the umbral sky— Not mine the Atlas shoulders that shall bear The pregnant century's living load— Not e'en the melic voices that adorn The rich neglected pages of our day, But somewhere now methinks there dreams a youth At times convulsed with energies divine, "That with no middle flight intends to soar" Above the common peaks that now appear— The faithful harp, on which the age can play Her regnant passions and her fitful moods— The mouthpiece of our matchless century!— | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE POET AND THE BABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE LOVE OF GOD by ELIZA SCUDDER YOU LINGERING SPARSE LEAVES OF ME by WALT WHITMAN THE WOOD THRUSH by SUSAN SHARP ADAMS BEAUTY by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG BENNINGTON by WILLIAM HENRY BABCOCK SPRING'S IMMORTALITY by H. T. MACKENZIE BELL MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY IN PASSION WEEK: THURSDAY by JOHN BYROM |