As I have known them passionate and fine The gold ft r which they lea\ e the golden line Of lync is a golden light divine, Never the gold of darkness from a mine. The spirit plays us strange religious pranks To whatsoever god we owe the thanks. No one has ever failed the poet ranks To link a chain of money-metal banks The loss to song, the danger of defection Is always in the opposite direction. Some turn m sheer, m Shelleyan dejection To try if one more popular election Will give us by short cut the final stage That poetry with all its golden rage For beauty on the illuminated page Has failed to bring-I mean the Golden Age. And if this may not be (and nothing's sure). At least to live ungolden with the poor, Enduring what the ungolden must endure. This has been poetry's great anti-lure. The muse mourns one who went to his retreat Long since in some abysmal city street. The bride who shared the crust he broke to eat As grave as he about the world's defeat. With such it has proved dangerous as friend Even in a playful moment to contend That the millennium to which you bend In longing is not at a progress-end By grace of state-manipulated pelf. Or politics of Ghibelline or Guelph, But right beside you book-like on a shelf, He trusts my love too well to deign reply. But there is in the sadness of his eye, Something about a kingdom in the sky (As yet unbrought to earth) he means to try. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GREY ROCK by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO HIS WIFE ON THE 16TH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING DAY, WITH A RING by SAMUEL BISHOP TWO OF A TRADE by SAMUEL WILLOUGHBY DUFFIELD MAIDENHOOD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A HEALTH by EDWARD COATE PINKNEY THE LAMPLIGHTER by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |