I CAST these lyric offerings at your feet, And ask you but to fling them not away: There suffer them to rest, till even they, By happy nearness to yourself, grow sweet. He that hath shaped and wrought them holds it meet That you be sung, not in some artless way, But with such pomp and ritual as when May Sends her full choir, the throned Morn to greet. With something caught from your own lofty air, With something learned from your own highborn grace, Song must approach your presence; must forbear All light and easy accost; and yet abase Its own proud spirit in awe and reverence there, Before the Wonder of your form and face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE BEING AS VISION by HAYDEN CARRUTH SPIRITUAL ISOLATION: A FRAGMENT by ISAAC ROSENBERG HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD by ROBERT BROWNING GARDEN DAYS: 6. AUTUMN FIRES by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MIRTH by EDITH COURTENAY BABBITT THE LORD OF THOULOUSE; A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE DAWN PATROL by PAUL BEWSHER |