In which every one that opened it should contribute something. TO THE BOOK OF FOLLIES. THIS tribute 's from a wretched elf, Who hails thee, emblem of himself! The book of life, which I have traced, Has been, like thee, a motley waste Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er, One folly bringing hundreds more. Some have indeed been writ so neat, In characters so fair, so sweet, That those who judge not too severely, Have said they loved such follies dearly! Yet still, O book! the allusion stands; For these were penn'd by @3female@1 hands: The rest, -- alas! I own the truth, -- Have all been scribbled so uncouth, That Prudence, with a withering look, Disdainful flings away the book. Like thine, its pages here and there Have oft been stain'd with blots of care; And sometimes hours of peace, I own, Upon some fairer leaves have shown, White as the snowings of that heaven By which those hours of peace were given. But now no longer -- such, oh! such The blast of Disappointment's touch! -- No longer now those hours appear; Each leaf is sullied by a tear: Blank, blank, is every page with care, Not e'en a folly brightens there. Will they yet brighten? -- Never, never! Then @3shut the book@1, O God! for ever! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE BEING AS VISION by HAYDEN CARRUTH HOPE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE REALM OF FANCY by JOHN KEATS WHO WALKS WITH BEAUTY by DAVID MORTON ADMIRAL, HAIL! by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD JERUSALEM; THE EMANATION OF THE GIANT ALBION: CHAPTER 1 by WILLIAM BLAKE |