RUB thou thy battered lamp: nor claim nor beg Honours from aught about thee. Light the young. Thy frame is as a dusty mantle hung, O grey one! pendant on a loosened peg. Thou art for this our life an ancient egg, Or a tough bird: thou hast a rudderless tongue, Turning dead trifles, like the cock of dung, Which runs, Time's contrast to thy halting leg. Nature, it is most sure, not thee admires. But hast thou in thy season set her fires To burn from Self to Spirit through the lash, Honoured the sons of Earth shall hold thee high: Yea, to spread light when thy proud letter I Drops prone and void as any thoughtless dash. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VISIONARY by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: THE FOUR WINDS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE END OF THE SUNSET TRAIL by ALMA C. BINGHAM ON HIS HEAD WERE MANY CROWNS by MATTHEW BRIDGES |