HERE to its pristine dust again is hurl'd, Of an inconstant soul, the little world; He liv'd, as if to some great things design'd, With substance small, boasting a princely mind. Of body crooked, and distorted face, But manners that did much his form disgrace. In broils, his rage pusht him beyond his art, Was kick'd, would face again, but wanted heart. In his whole course of life so swell'd with Pride, That, fail'd in all's intrigues, for grief he died. Thus with ambitious wings we strive to soar, Flutter a while, fall, and are seen no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BALLADE OF SUICIDE by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON MUSIC IN CAMP by JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON ROMANCE by WALTER JAMES REDFERN TURNER MASSACHUSETTS TO VIRGINIA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SONNET: ENGLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AUTUMN AND SPRING by JULIA COOLEY ALTROCCHI |