THOU vague dumb crawler with the groping head As listless to the sun as to the showers, Thou very image of the wingless Hours Now creeping past me with their feet of lead: For thee and me the same small garden bed Is the whole world: the same half life is ours; And year by year, as Fate restricts my powers, I grow more like thee, and the soul grows dead. No, Tortoise: from thy like in days of old Was made the living lyre; and mighty strings Spanned thy green shell with pure vibrating gold. The notes soared up, on strong but trembling wings, Through ether's lower zones; then, growing bold, Spurned earth for ever and its wingless things. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HARRISON STREET COURT by CARL SANDBURG A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 18 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE RACING CARS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 25 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 47 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |