Classic Poem

How deep the night about that soul!
How fast the manacles! I brood
And recreate in my own heart
Its agony of solitude.

Have golden lips breathed in that dark?
And was the breath as vainly blown
As yon frail wind that trembles on
This mammoth herd of brutish stone?

A kinsman of the cherubim
Chained in this pit's abysmal mire!
Sound for the rescue! Bugles, blow!
Gird on the armoury of fire!