YOU scorn as idle -- you who praise Each posturing hero of the herd -- The lofty bearing of a phrase, The noble countenance of a word. "This has no import for the age!" And so your votive wreaths you heap On him who brought unto our Stage A mightier dulness o'er the deep. Great Heaven! When these with clamour shrill Drift out to Lethe's harbour bar, A verse of Lovelace shall be still As vivid as a pulsing star. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ROBERT FROST RELATES THE DEATH OF THE TIRED MAN by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE LITTLE GIRL LOST, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE GEORGE WASHINGTON by JOHN HALL INGHAM BACHIN' by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. AT LLYNCWMSTRAETHY by CAROLINE CLIVE PRIMITIVE by KATHARINE MURDOCH DAVIS |