AS one who reads a tale writ in a tongue He only partly knows, -- runs over it And follows but the story, losing wit And charm, and half the subtle links among The haps and harms that the book's folk beset, -- So do we with our life. Night comes, and morn: I know that one has died and one is born; That this by love and that by hate is met. But all the grace and glory of it fail To touch me, and the meanings they enfold. The Spirit of the World hath told the tale, And tells it: and 't is very wise and old. But o'er the page there is a mist and veil: I do not know the tongue in which 't is told. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE OLD THEATRE, FIESOLE by THOMAS HARDY LAST WORDS TO A DUMB FRIEND by THOMAS HARDY DELIGHT IN DISORDER by ROBERT HERRICK THE YOUNG BROTHER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET ROMERO by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER by ROBERT BURNS SYMBOL OF OUR COUNTRY by MAUD MCKINSEY BUTLER |