How many a throb of the young poet-heart, Aspiring to the ideal bliss of fame, Deems that time soon may sanctify his claim Among the sons of song to dwell apart. -- Time passes -- passes! The aspiring flame Of hope shrinks down; the white flower poesy Breaks on its stalk, and from its earth-turned eye Drop sleepy tears instead of that sweet dew Rich with inspiring odors, insect wings Drew from its leaves with every changing sky, While its young innocent petals unsunned grew. No more in pride to other ears he sings, But with a dying charm himself unto: -- For a sad season: then, to active life he springs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNCLE JIM'S BAPTIST REVIVAL HYMN by SIDNEY LANIER THE UNKNOWN GOD by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN LOST TREASURE by MATHILDE BLIND GRISELDA: CHAPTER 5 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT EPITAPH ON MR. TURNER OF ST. MARY-HALL by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |