IT was the south: mid-everything, Mid-land, midsummer, noon; And deep within a limpid spring The mirrored sun of June. Splendour in freshness! Ah, who stole This sun, this fire, from heaven? He holds it shining in his soul, Prometheus the forgiven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HER LETTER by FRANCIS BRET HARTE FOR AN ALLEGORICAL DANCE OF WOMEN (BY ANDREA MANTEGNA) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 43 by ALFRED TENNYSON TO A SHADE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |