The Abbey broods beside the turbid Thames; Her mother heart is filled with memories; Her every niche is stored with storied names; They move before me like a mist of seas. I am confused, and made abash'd by these Most kingly souls, grand, silent, and severe. I am not equal, I should sore displease The living. . . dead. I dare not enter; drear And stain'd in storms of grander days all things appear. I go! but shall I not return again When art has taught me gentler, kindlier skill, And time has given force and strength of strain? I go! O ye that dignify and fill The chronicles of earth! I would instil Into my soul somehow the atmosphere Of sanctity that here usurps the will; But go; I seek the tomb of one -- a peer Of peers -- whose dust a fool refused to cherish here. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 18. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT by JOHN MILTON L.E.L. by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE DRUM by JOHN SCOTT (1730-1783) THE ETERNAL JUSTICE by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH A LUNCHEON (THOMAS HARDY ENTERTAINS THE PRINCE OF WALES) by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM PSALM 63 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |