English poem
From This Deep Chasm, Where Quivering Sunbeams Play
From this deep chasm, where quivering sunbeams play Upon its loftiest crags, mine eyes behold A gloomy NICHE, capacious, blank, and cold;[FO] A concave free from shrubs and mosses grey; In semblance fresh, as if, with dire affray, Some Statue, placed amid these regions old For tutelary service, thence had rolled, Startling the flight of timid Yesterday! Was it by mortals sculptured?--weary slaves Of slow endeavour! or abruptly cast Into rude shape by fire, with roaring blast Tempestuously let loose from central caves? Or fashioned by the turbulence of waves, Then, when o'er highest hills the Deluge pass'd?
More by William Wordsworth
- Fallen, And Diffused Into A Shapeless Heap
- "Fly, Some Kind Harbinger, To Grasmere-Dale" [A]
- From False Assumption Rose, And Fondly Hail'D
- From The Dark Chambers Of Dejection Freed
- Go Back To Antique Ages, If Thine Eyes
- Great Men Have Been Among Us; Hands That Penned
- Grief, Thou Hast Lost An Ever Ready Friend
- Hail, Twilight, Sovereign Of One Peaceful Hour