FAR above the hollow Tempest, and its moan, Singeth bright Apollo In his golden zone, -- Cloud doth never shade him, Nor a storm invade him, On his joyous throne. So when I behold me In an orb as bright, How thy soul doth fold me In its throne of light! Sorrow never paineth, Nor a care attaineth, To that blessed height. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN GRANTCHESTER MEADOWS; ON HEARING A SKYLARK SING by GEORGE SANTAYANA I SAW A STABLE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 2. IN CHURCH by THOMAS HARDY WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE SONG OF A TRAVELLER by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON GLEANING by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE BOOKS I OUGHT TO READ by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |