I am posting this thread under religion because so much of the poetry I read is about God. Not that I read a lot of poetry. Technically, Bill has piqued my curiosity.
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.
I have no clue what this really means but it sounds like this poet thinks he’s going to die apart from God. Unless I get properly educated, I’ll be posting some kind of rambling about it, line by line.