@3I sing no idle songs of dalliance days, No dreams Elysian inspire my rhyming; I have no Celia to enchant my lays, No pipes of Pan have set my heart to chiming. I am no wordsmith dripping gems divine Into the golden chalice of a sonnet; If love songs witch you, close this book of mine, Waste no time on it. Yet bring I to my work an eager joy, A lusty love of life and all things human; Still in me leaps the wonder of the boy, A pride in man, a deathless faith in woman. Still red blood calls, still rings the valiant fray; Adventure beacons through the summer gloaming: Oh long and long and long will be the day Ere I come homing! This earth is ours to love: lute, brush and pen, They are but tongues to tell of life sincerely; The thaumaturgic Day, the might of men, O God of Scribes, grant us to grave them clearly! Grant heart that homes in heart, then all is well. Honey is honey-sweet, howe'er the hiving. Each to his work, his wage at evening bell The strength of striving.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE QUARREL by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE GOLDEN TARGE by WILLIAM DUNBAR IN MEMORY OF WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 24. AR-RAFI by EDWIN ARNOLD AVELINGLAS by GORDON BOTTOMLEY SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 17 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |