A NEIGHBOUR, now, shall aged Sibyl have, For I'll withdraw to Cuma's sacred cave, Where I, Vesuvius-like, when year attire My head with snow, shall still maintain my fire. In hatred of the World my days I'll spend, Till with despite my wretched life shall end; My haughty plumes I've clipp'd, I'll soar no more, So the Fates cut what they had spun before. I was, when bad, of virtuous men despis'd, And by the scourge vice brings with it, chastis'd; That course I left, and turning good again, Was hated, and oppress'd by wicked men. Thus seems the partial world on all sides bent, Its utmost spite on wretched me to vent. My sins were fruitless: must, when life is done, Virtue lie buried in oblivion? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIMON LEGREE: NEGRO SERMON; MEMORIAL TO BOOKER T. WASHINGTON by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: SCANDERBERG by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW VALUATION by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON PSALM 23 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE MISS MILLY O'NAIRE by WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER THE AVENUE by GEORGES BOUTELLEAU |