VIRGIL stayed Dante with a wayside word; But long, and low, and loud and urgently The poets of my passion have I heard Summoning me. It is their closest whisper and their call. Their greatness to this lowliness hath spoken, Their voices rest upon that interval, Their sign, their token. Man at his little prayer tells Heaven his thought, To man entrusts his thought -- "Friend, this is mine." The immortal poets within my breast have sought, Saying, "What is thine?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ODE IN IMITATION OF ALCAEUS by WILLIAM JONES VAQUERO by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER BANTAMS IN PINE-WOODS by WALLACE STEVENS EIGHTEEN SIXTY-ONE by WALT WHITMAN AN INVENTORY OF THE FURNITURE IN DR. PRIESTLEY'S STUDY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |