A BOUNDING satyr, golden in the beard, That leaps with goat-feet high into the air, And crushes from the thyme an odour rare, Keeps watch around the marble tomb revered Of Sophocles, the poet loved and feared, Whose sovereign voice once called out of her lair The Dorian muse severe, with braided hair, Who loved the thyrsus and wild dances weird. Here all day long the pious bees can pour Libations of their honey; round this tomb The Dionysiac ivy loves to roam: The satyr laughs; but He awakes no more, Wrapped up in silence at the grave's cold core, Nor sees the sun wheel round in the white dome. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MAIDENHOOD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CATHOLIC HYMN by EDGAR ALLAN POE THE FAMILY MAN by JOHN GODFREY SAXE GO NOW' by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE MAYFLOWERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO A COUNTRY HOTEL TOWEL by ELMER CLEVELAND ADAMS |