TO drift with every passion till my soul Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play, Is it for this that I have given away Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control? -- Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll Scrawled over on some boyish holiday With idle songs for pipe and virelay Which do but mar the secret of the whole. Surely there was a time I might have trod The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God: Is that tine dead? lo! with a little rod I did but touch the honey of romance -- And must I lose a soul's inheritance? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EMPEDOCLES ON ETNA; A DRAMATIC POEM by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE DEATH OF THE HIRED MAN by ROBERT FROST THE TROOPS by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE CAPTAIN; A LEGEND OF THE NAVY by ALFRED TENNYSON MY PRAYER by HENRY DAVID THOREAU ON BEING ASKED IF ONE WAS A NUMBER, REPLY TO MR. HOUGHTON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |