THE vast Parnassus never knew thy face, O Muse of mine, O frail and tender elf That dancest in a moonbeam to thyself Where olives rustle in a lonely place! And yet ... thou hast a sort of Tuscan grace; Thou may'st outlive me! Some unborn Filelf One day may range thee on his studious shelf With Lenau, Leopardi, and their race. And so, some time, the sole sad scholar's friend, The melancholy comrade of his dreams, Thou may'st, O Muse, escape a little while The none the less inevitable end: Take heart, therefore, and sing the thing that seems, And watch the world's disaster with a smile. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LUCIFER IN STARLIGHT by GEORGE MEREDITH THE VICAR by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED THE TWO TREES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON HOMER'S BIRTHPLACE by ANTIPATER OF SIDON EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 44. TEARS THE SYMPTOM LOVE by PHILIP AYRES EIGHT VOLUNTEERS by LANSING C. BAILEY BILL SWEENY OF THE BLACK GANG by JAMES BARNES |