"DEAD is old Greece," they mourned ere yet arose This Greek -- this oak of old Achaian graft Seed-sown where westward tempests wept and laughed, As now when some great gust of heaven blows From lair levantine. How the giant grows! -- Not to lone ruin of a withered shaft, But quaffing life in every leafy draught, -- Fathered by Storm and mothered by Repose. Nay, doubt the Greeks are gone till, this green crest In splendor fallen, round the wrack shall be Prolonged, like memories of a noble guest, The phantom glory of the actor's day. Then, musing on Olympus, men shall say The myth of Jove took rise from lesser majesty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HIS MISTRESS by ABRAHAM COWLEY TROILUS AND CRESSIDA: SONG by JOHN DRYDEN THE FIFTEEN ACRES by JAMES STEPHENS THE KISS TO THE FLAG by JEAN FRANCOIS VICTOR AICARD COMEDY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH POEM FOR PICTURE: TO A PORTRAIT BY EDWARD STEICHEN (RACHMANINOFF) by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. |