O FLY, my Soul! What hangs upon Thy drooping wings, And weighs them down With love of gaudy mortal things? The Sun is now i' the east: each shade As he doth rise Is shorter made, That earth may lessen to our eyes. O be not careless then and play Until the Star of Peace Hide all his beams in dark recess! Poor pilgrims needs must lose their way, When all the shadows do increase. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...READING WHITMAN IN A TOILET STALL by TIMOTHY LIU ASPIRATIONS OF A COUNTRY LAD by GEORGE SANTAYANA COMFORT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE FIELD MOUSE by WILLIAM SHARP THE OLD LOBSTERMAN by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE NOVEMBER 4TH, 1937 by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) POLYHYMNIA: VERSES TO LORD NORREYS, SELECTION by WILLIAM BASSE |