And was it I that hoped to rattle A broken lance against iron laws? Was it I that asked to go down in battle For a lost cause? Fool! Must there be new deaths to cry for When only rottenness survives? Here are enough lost causes to die for Through twenty lives. What have we learned? That the familiar Lusts are the only things that endure; That for an age grown blinder and sillier, There is no cure. And man? Free of one kind of fetter, He runs to gaudier shackles and brands; Deserving, for all his groans, no better Than he demands. The flat routine of bed and barter, Birth and burial, holds the lot. . . . Was it I that dreamed of being a martyr? How -- and for what? Yet, while this unconcern runs stronger As life shrugs on without meaning or shape, Let me know flame and the teeth of hunger; Storm -- not escape. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: DANTE (1) by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY [OR, DAFFYDOWNDILLY] by MOTHER GOOSE IMITATION OF CHAUCER by ALEXANDER POPE REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE BABY'S DEBUT, BY W. W. by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839) A SONG OF LABOUR; DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW-WORKERS WITH PICK AND SHOVEL by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE BRIDES' TRAGEDY: ACT 1, SCENE 1 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES TO W.A. AND H.H. ON THEIR DEPARTURE TO EUROPE by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY LORD KNOWLES: SONG 2 by THOMAS CAMPION |