The love that rose on stronger wings, Unpalsied when he met with Death, Is comrade of the lesser faith That sees the course of human things. No doubt vast eddies in the flood Of onward time shall yet be made, And throned races may degrade; Yet, O ye mysteries of good, Wild Hours that fly with Hope and Fear, If all your office had to do With old results that look like new -- If this were all your mission here, To draw, to sheathe a useless sword, To fool the crowd with glorious lies, To cleave a creed in sects and cries, To change the bearing of a word, To shift an arbitrary power, To cramp the student at his desk, To make old bareness picturesque And tuft with grass a feudal tower, Why, then my scorn might well descend On you and yours. I see in part That all, as in some piece of art, Is toil cooperant to an end. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO LIZBIE BROWNE by THOMAS HARDY THAT HOLY THING by GEORGE MACDONALD PEPITA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH VERSES TO -- --, ON THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THEIR MARRIAGE by BERNARD BARTON A CITY PIPER by MORRIS ABEL BEER A SUPPLICATION FOR LOVE, HYMN 1 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |