PRAISE of the wise and good! -- it is a meed For which I would lone years of toil endure; Which many a peril, many a grief would cure! As onward I with weary feet proceed, My swelling heart continues still to bleed; The glittering prize holds out its distant lure, But seems, as nearer I approach, less sure, And never to my prayer to be decreed! -- With anxious ear I listen to the voice That shall pronounce the precious boon I ask; But yet it comes not, -- or it comes in doubt -- Slave to the passion of my earliest choice, From youth to age I ply my daily task, And hope, e'en till the lamp of life goes out. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAMPUS SONNET: MAY MORNING by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE BIRDS OF VIETNAM by HAYDEN CARRUTH HONEY DRIPPER by CLARENCE MAJOR MOUNTAINEER AND POET by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED by THOMAS CAREW AT GIBRALTAR by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY |