'WHAT art thou, presumptuous, who profanest The wreath to mighty poets only due, Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest? Touch not those leaves which for the eternal few Who wander o'er the paradise of fame, In sacred dedication ever grew: One of the crowd thou art without a name,' 'Ah, friend,'t is the false laurel that I wear. Bright though it seem, it is not the same As that which bound Milton's immortal hair: Its dew is poison; and the hopes that quicken Under its chilling shade, though seeming fair, Are flowers which die almost before they sicken.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD: THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY by JOHN DONNE GARDEN DAYS: 3. THE FLOWERS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON CHANT OF DEPARTURE; A MISSIONARY'S PRAYER by ALFRED BARRETT A CONCEPTION by DAISY MAUD BELLIS DEPARTURE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A SHEPHERD'S DREAM by NICHOLAS BRETON HAYING by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE EMBARRASSING EPISODE OF LITTLE MISS MUFFET by GUY WETMORE CARRYL |