YE cliffs of masonry, enormous piles, Which no rude censure of familiar time Nor record of our puny race defiles, In dateless mystery ye stand sublime, Memorials of an age of which we see Only the types in things that once were ye. Whether ye rest upon some bosky knoll, Your feet by ancient myrtles beautified, Or seem, like fabled dragons, to unroll Your swarthy grandeurs down a bleak hillside, Still on your savage features is a spell That makes ye half divine, ineffable. With joy, upon your height I stand alone, As on a precipice, or lie within Your shadow wide, or leap from stone to stone, Pointing my steps with careful discipline, And think of those grand limbs whose nerve could bear These masses to their places in mid-air; Of Anakim, and Titans, and of days Saturnian, when the spirit of man was knit So close to Nature, that his best essays At Art were but in all to follow it, In all, -- dimension, dignity, degree; And thus these mighty things were made to be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RODNEY'S RIDE [JULY 3, 1776] by ELBRIDGE STREETER BROOKS INLAND by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 2. TO SLEEP by MARK AKENSIDE SUNSET ON THE ORANGE MOUNTAINS by ADRIAN BERKOWITZ CHILD OF MARY'S SOUL by SUSIE MONTGOMERY BEST EDWIN MARKHAM by MARIANNE CLARKE |