GUARD me and save me, Muse, I pray, From all who babble night and day The doctrine that Intention high Lifts Unachievement to the sky, And that a mighty Will to sing Makes the mere Power a needless thing! Trench me around from such as prate That only he who fails is great. O, the brave tourneys of the Lyre Are won by @3prowess@1, not desire, And Art is @3capture@1, not pursuit -- Capture and conquest absolute, Bliss of possession without bar. And they the trophied hunters are, Who from their cloudless brows efface The last motes of the dust of chase, Ev'n as great Victors let us see Nought in their eyes save Victory. The steeds of Helios will obey None other than the lord of day. They bear, delighted, the command Of his inexorable hand; But if a meddler take the reins, They rear, they toss their flaming manes, Crash backward, or ramp wild anon, In boundless scorn of Phaethon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A STRIP OF BLUE by LUCY LARCOM YOUTH AND AGE by GEORGE ARNOLD AN ADDRESS TO THE DEITY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD WORLD-MILLER by FRANCES BARBER TO MADEMOISELLE by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER PSALM 15 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |