RICH labour is the struggle to be wise, While we make sure the struggle cannot cease. Else better were it in some bower of peace Slothful to swing, contending with the flies. You point at Wisdom fixed on lofty skies, As mid barbarian hordes a sculptured Greece: She falls. To live and shine, she grows her fleece, Is shorn, and rubs with follies and with lies. So following her, your hewing may attain The right to speak unto the mute, and shun That sly temptation of the illumined brain, Deliveries oracular, self-spun. Who sweats not with the flock will seek in vain To shed the words which are ripe fruit of sun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MATER AMABILIS by EMMA LAZARUS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: TENNESSEE CLAFLIN SHOPE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SONG OF THE MOON by CLAUDE MCKAY A TOWN WINDOW by JOHN DRINKWATER EVEN SO by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE KING'S DAUGHTER by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE WHEN by SARAH CHAUNCEY WOOLSEY THE SISTER'S TRAGEDY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LESBIA'S COMPLAINT AGAINST THYRISIS HIS INCONSTANCY; A SONNET by PHILIP AYRES |