The picture fades; as at a village fair A showman's views, dissolving into air, Again appear transfigured on the screen, So in my fancy this; and now once more, In part transfigured, through the open door Appears the selfsame scene. Seated, I see the two again, But not alone; they entertain A little angel unaware, With face as round as is the moon; A royal guest with flaxen hair, Who, throned upon his lofty chair, Drums on the table with his spoon, Then drops it careless on the floor, To grasp at things unseen before. Are these celestial manners? these The ways that win, the arts that please? Ah yes; consider well the guest, And whatsoe'er he does seems best; He ruleth by the right divine Of helplessness, so lately born In purple chambers of the morn, As sovereign over thee and thine. He speaketh not; and yet there lies A conversation in his eyes; The golden silence of the Greek, The gravest wisdom of the wise, Not spoken in language, but in looks More legible than printed books, As if he could but would not speak. And now, O monarch absolute, Thy power is put to proof; for, lo! Resistless, fathomless, and slow, The nurse comes rustling like the sea, And pushes back thy chair and thee, And so good night to King Canute. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THERE IS NO NATURAL RELIGION (B) by WILLIAM BLAKE THE MOTHER'S HOPE by SAMUEL LAMAN BLANCHARD THE BLACK RIDERS: 22 by STEPHEN CRANE FEBRUARY IN ROME by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE IN THE SHADOWS: 2 by DAVID GRAY (1838-1861) THE EAGLE; A FRAGMENT by ALFRED TENNYSON THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA'S DREAM by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |