Be gentle with me: for thou knowest not yet The utter need there is in me of love. Oh! though the poets' brows, bay-crowned above, Shine famously,—look close, their eyes are wet. The sorrow of all the earth God's hand has set Upon them for a wreath,—and in strange fashion To understand in soul earth's every passion: For this it is that earth is in their debt. What the slow heartless lover cannot feel, The poet feels for him; and tear-drops steal Adown his cheeks when others cannot sorrow. What wonder then if sometimes in his heart There is a yearning he cannot impart, And sweet would seem a night without a morrow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW THE CUMBERLAND WENT DOWN [MARCH 8, 1862] by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL THE OUTGOING OF SABBATH by ALTER ABELSON THE HOUREGLASSE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT IN IMITATION OF HORACE by APHRA BEHN THE LAND OF THE GIANTS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET SUPPLICATION by MARGARET H. BRANDON VILLANELLE (TO A LOVER OF MANHATTAN) by HENRY S. CHURCHILL MARI MAGNO; OR TALES ON BOARD: THE LAWYER'S SECOND TALE; CHRISTIAN by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH |