When shall they crown a poet?—they have twined Around the lordly brows of poets dead White lilies, dark-green bay-leaves, roses red,— And golden crowns and silver have designed For singers clustered in the years behind. But ah! the living lonely thorn-pierced head! Rain-drops and dew-drops in the roses' stead Crown the tired forehead,—and the weary wind. When shall they crown a poet?—When his ears Are deaf for ever to the sound of praise. Then will the world's heart open to his lays And his sweet singing move men's souls to tears. Art-pilgrims who would with coarse gibes have spurned Live Shelley, maunder round his Heart inurned. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE KINGS by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY COUNTER-ATTACK by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE MULBERRY GARDEN: CHILD AND MAIDEN by CHARLES SEDLEY HUMAN IGNORANCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH I HAVE LOVED by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY; DOMESTIC LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE SINGLE ERROR by VIVIAN PIKE BOLES MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE PORCH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |