Not thine to tread the midmost marl of hell, Not thine to pluck the unfading fruits of Heaven; Not unto thee the immortal Muse has given To people flowery isles with twilight spell. But here, where toiling men have lived and loved For immemorial ages; here, where rolls The confluent commerce of the opposing poles, Thy Muse holds court and revel unreproved. Other and greater bards brought Heaven to Earth, But thou didst raise this homely Earth of ours, Thy Mother still for all her haggard eyes, To seat her at God's feet -- tear-wistful Mirth, Sweet Love, and Fancy's freshest morning flowers, These were thy gift, and these outlast the skies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STANZAS FOR MUSIC (2) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON MOZART'S REQUIEM by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE SEA by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER THE LAMENT OF THE FLOWERS by JONES VERY FOR MY CHILD by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE BURIAL-MARCH OF THE DUNDEE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |