A volant Tribe of Bards on earth are found, Who, while the flattering Zephyrs round them play, On '''coignes of vantage''' hang their nests of clay; How quickly from that aery hold unbound, Dust for oblivion! To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye; Convinced that there, there only, she can lay Secure foundations. As the year runs round, Apart she toils within the chosen ring; While the stars shine, or while day's purple eye Is gently closing with the flowers of spring; Where even the motion of an Angel's wing Would interrupt the intense tranquillity Of silent hills, and more than silent sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE SALE OF MY FARM by ROBERT FROST SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: YEE BOW by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE POOR by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THIS SUMMER AND LAST by THOMAS HARDY TO AMARANTHA, THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVEL HER HAIR by RICHARD LOVELACE SONG OF THE SPANISH JEWS by GRACE AGUILAR |