AND did'st thou know indeed, when at the font Together with thy name thou gav'st me his, That also on thy son must Beatrice Decline her eyes according to her wont, Accepting me to be of those that haunt The vale of magical dark mysteries Where to the hills her poet's foot-track lies And wisdom's living fountain to his chaunt Trembles in music? This is that steep land Where he that holds his journey stands at gaze Tow'rd sunset, when the clouds like a new height Seem piled to climb. These things I understand: For here, where day still soothes my lifted face, On thy bowed head, my father, fell the night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITANY OF THE DARK PEOPLE by COUNTEE CULLEN THE RUSSIAN ARMY GOES INTO BAKU by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER A SEA DIALOGUE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE LACHRYMATORY by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER HYMN FOR ALL SAINTS DAY IN THE MORNING by HENRY ALFORD THE POET'S SOLILOQUY by E. M. AVERILL SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 8. THEE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) STANZAS, OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF A RELATIVE ABROAD by BERNARD BARTON THE LAST MAN: ANTICIPATION OF EVIL TIDINGS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |