@3VERSE sweetens toil, however rude the sound; She feels no biting pang the while she sings; Nor, as she turns the giddy wheel around, Revolves the sad vicissitudes of things.@1 No pang to me my minnesinging brings; I pen my poems by the very pound. (They say, whene'er one strikes the lyric strings, @3Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound.@1) My reckless muse, ungirdled and uncrowned, Sings on, sings on of cabbages and kings; Skyward she soars, or digs below the ground— @3She feels no biting pang the while she sings.@1 Coherence to the well-known winds she flings; She cares not if the clock of Time be wound, Nor recks she, as she plays, if wealth have wings, @3Nor as she turns the giddy wheel around.@1 She muses on the souls confined and bound; On barren winters and on sapful springs; And as she stands upon her airy mound, @3Revolves the sad vicissitudes of things.@1 I like a poem when it sort of swings, And floats and sinks—at times you think it's drowned— And lives, and dies, and falls away, and clings. But, in a long career, I've never found @3Verse sweetens toil.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NIGHT MAIL NORTH (EUSTON SQUARE, 1840) by HENRY CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL THE HUDSON by GEORGE SIDNEY HELLMAN THE DEPARTED by JOHN BANISTER TABB FALL PLOWING by EVA K. ANGLESBURG ON THE PORTRAIT OF A COLONEL; G.H.H. by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |