THOU, who, in thine own bitter words, didst keep A burning heart amid the eternal snows, -- Say, whether in the garth of death there grows A herb to staunch thy grief and yield thee sleep. Breathe gentlier, gentlier there! oh slumber deep No more the fangs of fruitless longing close Fast in that flesh from which the life-blood flows, Back from that brow the clouds of torture sweep. Beyond the lot of man thou sufferedst pain; But thy great spirit, through the winnowing fire, Like noblest metal from a raging pyre, Ran, liquid light, a stream of sparkling rain, Indomitably daring, gold of brain Fused from the ore of torments gross and dire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VERSES WHY BURNT by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR BURNING STRAWPILES by EVA K. ANGLESBURG BOTHWELL: PART 1 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN ECCE IN DESERTO by HENRY AUGUSTIN BEERS MAD WIND by CATHERINE BRADSHAW THE WARRIOR MAID by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH WORK by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING FAMILIAR EPISTLES ON A SERMON, 'OFFICE & OPERATIONS OF HOLY SPIRIT': 5 by JOHN BYROM |