I am not of those miserable males Who sniff at vice and, daring not to snap, Do therefore hope for heaven. I take the hap Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I wrecked, I know the devil has sufficient weight To bear: I lay it not on him, or fate. Besides, he's damned. That man I do suspect A coward, who would burden the poor deuce With what ensues from his own slipperiness. I have just found a wanton-scented tress In an old desk, dusty for lack of use. Of days and nights it is demonstrative, That, like some aged star, gleam luridly. If for those times I must ask charity, Have I not any charity to give? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHE CAME AND WENT by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AUTUMN WOODS by ANNA M. ACKERMANN THE GATES OF PARADISE; FOR THE SEXES by WILLIAM BLAKE A FAVOURITE SCENE; RECALLED ON LOOKING AT BIRKET FOSTER'S LANDSCAPE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN TO A DISCIPLE OF WILLIAM MORRIS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TO MISTRESS KATHERNE NEVILLE, ON HER GREEN SICKNESS by THOMAS CAREW THE LOVER'S INTERDICT by ALICE CARY THE MAID OF THE MOOR, OR THE WATER-FIENDS, SELECTION by GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER |