PATRON of all those luckless brains That, to the wrong side leaning, Indite much metre with much pains, And little or no meaning: Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams, That water all the nations, Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, In constant exhalations; Why, stooping from the noon of day, Too covetous of drink, Apollo, hast thou stolen away A poet's drop of ink? Upborne into the viewless air, It floats a vapour now, Impelled through regions dense and rare By all the winds that blow. Ordained, perhaps, ere summer flies, Combined with millions more, To form an Iris in the skies, Though black and foul before. Illustrious drop! and happy then Beyond the happiest lot, Of all that ever passed my pen, So soon to be forgot! Phoebus, if such be thy design, To place it in thy bow, Give wit, that what is left may shine With equal grace below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WIND AT THE DOOR by WILLIAM BARNES THE FOURTH OF JULY by JOHN PIERPONT TO THE ONE OF FICTIVE MUSIC by WALLACE STEVENS PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN OF CHARTRES by HENRY BROOKS ADAMS LONDON SURVEYED AND ILLUSTRATED by JOHANNEM ADAMUS ARETEMIAS by ANTIPATER OF SIDON EN TOUR; A SONG SEQUENCE: 1. THE GARGOYLE by ALBERTA BANCROFT |