We dwell in these melodious days When every author trolls his lays; And all, except myself and you, Must up and print the nonsense, too. Why then, if this be so indeed, If adamantine walls recede And old Apollo's gardens gape For Arry and the grinder's ape; I too may enter in perchance Where paralytic graces dance, And cheering on each tottering set Blow my falsetto flageolet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EUROPE A PROPHECY by WILLIAM BLAKE SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 48 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI TO A CERTAIN CIVILIAN by WALT WHITMAN A CHRISTMAS HYMN by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER PROLOGUE TO DRAMA ..... ANNIVERSARY OF CARRS' MARRIAGE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD IDYLL 1. THE EPITAPH OF ADONIS by BION |