LEE, who in niggard soil hast delved, to find What things soever may be known or guessed Of him that to the ages gives no rest, The world-scanned secret peak of human mind; Thy choice was well, who leav'st to fools and blind All vague, unprofitable, fantastic quest, Nor with a spy's dark diligence wrong'st that breast, Where the still-curtained heart still balks mankind. 'Tis said of certain poets, that writ large Their sombre names on tragic stage and tome, They are gulfs or estuaries of Shakespeare's sea. Lofty the praise; but honour enough, to be As children playing by his mighty marge, Glorious with casual sprinklings of the foam. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JAMES GARBER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PRAYERS by HENRY CHARLES BEECHING ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TERNISSA, FR HELLENICS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE HARVEST MOON; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW MELHILL FEAST by WILLIAM BARNES |