@3Each in the self-same field we glean The field of the Samosatene, Each something takes and something leaves And this must choose, and that forego In Lucian's visionary sheaves, To twine a modern posy so; But all my gleanings, truth to tell, Are mixed with mournful asphodel, While yours are wreathed with poppies red, With flowers that Helen's feet have kissed, With leaves of vine that garlanded The Syrian Pantagruelist, The sage who laughed the world away, Who mocked at Gods, and men, and care, More sweet of voice than Rabelais, And lighter-hearted than Voltaire.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL HESTER PRYNNE? by KAREN SWENSON WHISPERS OF IMMORTALITY by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT THE STRANGE LADY by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT SONG FOR THE NEAPOLITANS by JOHN CHALK CLARIS |