THUS I lift the sash, so long Shut against the flight of song; All too late for vain excuse, -- Lo, my captive rhymes are loose! Rhymes that, flitting through my brain, Beat against my window-pane, Some with gayly colored wings, Some, alas! with venomed stings. Shall they bask in sunny rays? Shall they feed on sugared praise? Shall they stick with tangled feet On the critic's poisoned sheet? Are the outside winds too rough? Is the world not wide enough? Go, my winged verse, and try, -- Go, like Uncle Toby's fly! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DOUBLE BALLAD OF GOOD COUNSEL by FRANCOIS VILLON BEAUTIFUL MEALS by THOMAS STURGE MOORE THE OLD MAN AND JIM by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY CHAMPAGNE, 1914-1915 by ALAN SEEGER JIM DALLEY by ALEXANDER ANDERSON OUT OF THE SHADOW by MARGARET FAIRLESS BARBER HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 7 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |