NOT a dread cavern, hoar with damp and mould, Where I must creep, and in the dark and cold, Offer some awful incense at a shrine That hath no more divine Than that't is far from life, and stern, and old; But a bright hilltop in the breezy air, Full of the morning freshness high and clear, Where I may climb and drink the pure, new day, And see where winds away The path that God would send me, shining fair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GETHSEMANE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FETES GALANTES: PANYOMIME by PAUL VERLAINE THALATTA! THALATTA!; CRY OF THE TEN THOUSAND by JOSEPH BROWNLEE BROWN THE SHRUBBERY, WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION by WILLIAM COWPER AN ODE IN IMITATION OF ALCAEUS by WILLIAM JONES IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 55 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE PRINCESS: [BUGLE] SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON |