AT thee @3the Mocker@1 sneers in cold derision, Through thee he seeks to desecrate and dim Glory for which he hath no soul or vision, For "God" and "Angel" are but sounds with him. He makes the jewels of the heart his booty, And scoffs at Man's Belief and Woman's Beauty. Yet thou—a lowly shepherdess!—descended Not from a kingly but a godly race, Are crowned by Poësy! Amid the splendid Of Heaven's high stars she builds thy dwellingplace, Garlands thy temples with a wreath of glory, And swathes thy memory in eternal Story. The Base of this weak world exult at seeing The Fair defaced, the Lofty in the dust; Yet grieve not! There are godlike hearts in being Which worship still the Beautiful and Just. Let Momus and his mummers please the crowd, Of nobleness alone a noble mind is proud. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN A RAILROAD STATION by SARA TEASDALE CLOTHES by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER DORA VERSUS ROSE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE FARM CHILD'S LULLABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE LAST POST by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES |