"TOUCH him ne'er so lightly, into song he broke: Soil so quick-receptive, -- not one feather-seed, Not one flower-dust fell but straight its fall awoke Vitalizing virtue: song would song succeed Sudden as spontaneous -- prove a poet-soul!" Indeed? Rock's the song-soil rather, surface hard and bare: Sun and dew their mildness, storm and frost their rage Vainly both expend, -- few flowers awaken there: Quiet in its cleft broods -- what the after-age Knows and names a pine, a nation's heritage. Thus I wrote in London, musing on my betters, Poets dead and gone; and lo, the critics cried, "Out on such a boast!" as if I dreamed that fetters Binding Dante bind up -- me! as if true pride Were not also humble! So I smiled and sighed As I oped your book in Venice this bright morning, Sweet new friend of mine! and felt the clay or sand, Whatsoe'er my soil be, break -- for praise or scorning -- Out in grateful fancies -- weeds; but weeds expand Almost into flowers, held by such a kindly hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GROWING GRAY by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON LALLA ROOKH: PARADISE AND THE PERI by THOMAS MOORE ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI IN THE FLORENTINE GALLERY by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES by WALT WHITMAN LINES TO A FITFUL LOVER by MIRIAM BARRANGER IMPROMPTU by FRANCOIS JOACHIM DE PIERRE DE BERNIS A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 8 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |