What now avails the pageant verse, Trophies and arms with music borne? Base is the world; and some rehearse How noblest meet ignoble scorn Vain now the ardor, vain thy fire, Delirium mere, unsound desire: Fate's knife hath ripped the chorded lyre. Exhausted by the exacting lay, Thou dost but fall a surer prey To wile and guile ill understood; While they who work them, fair in face, Still keep their strength in prudent place, And claim they worthier run life's race, Serving high God with useful good. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: OF THREE GIRLS AND OF THEIR TALK by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO THE RAIN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNET: 106 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SOLITUDE by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX |