SHALL the hag Evil die with child of Good, Or propagate again her loathed kind, Thronging the cells of the diseased mind, Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood, Though hourly pastured on the salient blood? Oh! that the wind which bloweth cold or heat Would shatter and o'erbear the brazen beat Of their broad vans, and in the solitude Of middle space confound them, and blow back Their wild cries down their cavern throats, and slake With points of blast-borne hail their heated eyne! So their wan limbs no more might come between The moon and the moon's reflex in the night, Nor blot with floating shades the solar light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WOODSMOKE AT 70 by HAYDEN CARRUTH FACADE: 24. AN OLD WOMAN LAMENTS IN SPRINGTIME by EDITH SITWELL EILEEN AROON by GERALD JOSEPH GRIFFIN MOONRISE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS WINTER, FR. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |