OH, what a waste of feeling and of thought Have been the imprints on my roll of life! What worthless hours! to what use have I turned The golden gifts which are my hope and pride! My power of song, unto how base a use Has it been put! with its pure ore I made An idol, living only on the breath Of idol worshippers. Alas! that ever Praise should have been what praise has been to me -- The opiate of the mind! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POCAHONTAS by GEORGE POPE MORRIS FOUR SONNETS: 3 by FRANK DAVIS ASHBURN INVITES HIS NYMPH TO HIS COTTAGE by PHILIP AYRES FOR THE QUEEN MOTHER by JOHN BETJEMAN JERUSALEM; THE EMANATION OF THE GIANT ALBION: CHAPTER 4 by WILLIAM BLAKE THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: SINCE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON MASQUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE LORD HAYES: SONG. ROSES by THOMAS CAMPION TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. A MIGHTIER THAN MAMMON by EDWARD CARPENTER |