THE barren music of a word or phrase, The futile arts of syllable and stress, He sought. The poetry of common days He did not guess. The simplest, sweetest rhythms life affords -- Unselfish love, true effort truly done, The tender themes that underlie all words -- He knew not one. The human cadence and the subtle chime Of little laughters, home and child and wife, He knew not. Artist merely in his rhyme, Not in his life. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD SHIPS by JAMES ELROY FLECKER LIMERICK by OLIVER BROOK HERFORD CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK; 1658 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 3: 34. MUTABILITY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH A SOCIETY MARTYR by JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY TANGLED TRAILS by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD THE LAY OF MR. COLT by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN MOCK EPITAPH ON MR. AND MRS. ESTLIN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |