THE poet in theory worships the moon, But how can he linger, to gaze on her light? With proof-sheets and copy the table is strewn, A poem lies there, to be finished to-night. He silently watches the queen of the sky, But orbs more prosaic must dawn for him soon -- The gas must be lighted; he turns with a sigh, Lets down his venetians and shuts out the moon. "This is but a symbol," he sadly exclaims, "Heaven's glory must yield to the lustre of earth; More golden, less distant, less pure are the flames That shine for the world over sorrow and mirth. When Wisdom sublime sheds her beams o'er the night, I turn with a sigh from the coveted boon, And choosing instead a more practical light Let down my venetians and shut out the moon." He sits to his desk and he mutters "Alas, My muse will not oaken, and yet I must write!" But great is Diana: venetians and gas Have not been sufficient to banish her quite. She peeps through the blinds and is bright as before, He smiles and he blesses the hint opportune, And feels he can still, when his labour is o'er, Draw up his venetians and welcome the moon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE THREE PHILOSOPHICAL POETS by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE VISION OF JUDGEMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON BEREAVED by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE SAILOR BOY by ALFRED TENNYSON EVENING by ISABELLA LOCKHART ALDERMAN WINTER WIZARDRY by LAURA S. BECK |