Out of this turmoil and passion, This implacable contest, This vast sea of effort, I would gather something of repose, Some intuition of the inalterable gods, Some Attic gesture. Each day I grow more restless, See the austere shape elude me, Gaze impotently upon a thousand miseries And still am dumb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DESOLATE FIELD by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE BLACK FINGER by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE SONNET: 24 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE WITH A NANTUCKET SHELL by CHARLES HENRY WEBB WITHER AWAY by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY THE FEAST OF THE DEAD by CHARLOTTE BECKER PLUM TREE by VIRGINIA WOODSON FRAME CHURCH SONG OF THE THREE SEEDS IN THE MACAW'S BEAK by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH |