Explore "Enceladus" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Under Mount Etna he lies, / It is slumber, it is not death; / For he struggles at times to arise, / And above him the lurid skies / Are hot with his fiery breath.
The crags are piled on his breast, / The earth is heaped on his head; / But the groans of his wild unrest, / Though smothered and half suppressed, / Are heard, and he is not dead.