Do what? Seek a potent protector, slink under a patron, And like the low ivy, both early and late run Round a trunk-prop and, licking the bark, Climb by a ruse instead of rising stark? No, thanks! Like everyone, set dearly down Lines to a financier? Change into a clown In the base hope of seeing, on the lips of a minister, A smile spread, at last, that may not be sinister? No, thanks! Dine daily on a bitter pill? Have a belly worn with walking? A skin still Quicker to catch the dirt upon the knees? Execute daily dorsal suppleties? No, thanks! With one hand pet a goat until it preens, And with the other confiscate its greens? Donor of senna that rhubarb be neared, Always burn incense in somebody's beard? No, thanks! From one lap leap to the lap beyond, To become a big man in a small pond, To navigate with madrigal-propellers And the sighs of old maids as my sail-swellers? No, thanks! At the publishing house of kindly Blanks Pay to have my verses done? No, thanks! Be named high-priest by the council of buffoons That meets before the bars of old saloons? No, thanks! Work that my name shall go High with one sonnet, and write no more? No, Thanks! Discover talent only in loons, Be terrorized by threats of vague lampoons, And endlessly to say "Just let me be Among the personals in the @3Mercury!"@1 No, thanks! Calculate? Have fears—and show 'em? And rather make a visit than a poem? Draw up petitions, be presented ... everything!!! No, thanks! No, thanks! No, thanks! No, thanks! But—sing, Dream, laugh, go by, be alone, be free, With a vibrant voice, and a steady eye to see, And when I please, to set my hat awry, At a yea or a nay take arms—or versify! To work, unheeding wealth or glory's tune, Toward the journey I'm thinking of making to the moon! Never to write a line save from the heart, Modestly to say to myself from the very start: "Be satisfied with flowers, fruits, even leaves, If it is your own garden that achieves!" Then if fame and fortune send a soft appeaser, Not to be obliged to render aught unto Cæsar, But clear in your own eyes make your merit shine: In short, disdaining the parasitic vine, Even if you haven't to the oak's crest grown, Not to soar high, perhaps, but rise alone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARDEN FANCIES: 1. THE FLOWER'S NAME by ROBERT BROWNING CYNTHIADES: TO CYNTHIA ON CONCEALMENT OF HER BEAUTY by FRANCIS KYNASTON SONG, WRITTEN AT SEA, IN THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, 1665 ... by CHARLES SACKVILLE (1637-1706) NEAR DOVER, SEPTEMBER 1802 by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TWO SONGS FROM THE PERSIAN: 1 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH EPIGAEA ASLEEP by WILLIAM WHITMAN BAILEY POSTHUMOUS REMORSE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |