GO learn, O green-eyed monster's fatal brood, By Art, not parasangs, to judge what's good. Look not to me for lofty sounding song; The thunder-claps to father Zeus belong. When first a tablet on my knees reclined, Apollo, lord of Lycia, spoke his mind: 'Give me, good bard, for sacrificial fare A victim fat: but let your Muse be spare. And listen, -- when your chariot skims the road, Avoid the route that takes a wagon's load; Leave open ways and trodden tracks alone, And go the gate that's narrow, but your own.' I tuned my quill, nor let the warning pass, -- A sweet cicala, not a raucous ass. Long ears and all, another bard shall bray; Let me go light, and flit my dainty way. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EUROPE A PROPHECY by WILLIAM BLAKE CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE by PHILLIPS BROOKS ON HIS BEING [OR, HAVING] ARRIVED AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE by JOHN MILTON A RHYME by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE SISTERS by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS PSALM 98 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE ON THE DEATH OF ALEXANDER, EMPEROR OF THE RUSSIAS by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |