They have torn the gold tettinx From my hair; And wrenched the bronze sandals From my ankles. They have taken from me my friend Who knew the holy wisdom of the poets, Who had drunk at the feast Where Simonides sang. No more do I walk the calm gardens In the white mist of olives; No more do I take the rose-crown From the white hands of a maiden. I, who was free, am a slave; The Muses have forgotten me. The gods do not hear me. Here there are no flowers to love; But afar off I dream that I see Bent poppies and the deathless asphodel. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WINE OF NIGHT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE LAWYER'S WAYS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR AN ODE UPON A QUESTION WHETHER LOVE SHOULD CONTINUE FOREVER by EDWARD HERBERT SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: FIDDLER JONES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE LONG AGO by BENJAMIN FRANKLIN TAYLOR |