The fury of a creature when it drips Wet-fanged, and thirsty with the desert dust, The clench in battle on a sword that must Ravish the foe, the pang of finger tips- Joy of a captain in recovered ships, Joy, verity of a long-buried lust Delightsome to the flesh, is in the thrust Toward Absalom of the king's tarried lips. And, lo, beneath that awful benison, A thief's face glittered, sniffing at the gems Of the bent crown as they were cassia-stems; While the young years heard but the rolling on Of chariots, and a tumult, broke amain By rumour of an agèd monarch slain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY FATHER by WILLIAM SYDNEY GRAHAM TO GOD AND IRELAND TRUE by ELLEN O'LEARY THE DESERTED HOUSE by ALFRED TENNYSON TO ROBERT CALVERLEY TREVELYAN & ELIZABETH TREVELYAN by GORDON BOTTOMLEY TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. O THOU WHOSE FORM by EDWARD CARPENTER |