The envious age, only to me alone, Will not allow what I do write my own; But let them rage, and 'gainst a maid conspire, So deathless numbers from my tuneful lyre Do ever flow; so Phoebus, I by thee Inspired divinely, and possest may be; I willingly accept Cassandra's faith, To speak the truth, although believed too late. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FORSAKEN GARDEN by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE ON THE MANTLEPIECE by JAMES LANE ALLEN A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 34 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT A GOTHAMITE IN CAMELOT by BERTON BRALEY PENELOPE by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN FALLAX ET INSTABILIS by PATRICK CAREY |