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TO THEOPHILE GAUTIER, by             Poem Explanation         Poet's Biography
First Line: The poet snares his prize
Last Line: To ply the tool with skill.
Subject(s): Poetry & Poets


THE poet snares his prize
As in a fowler's noose,
Then plies
The chisel gravers use.

For, that his blade may wreak
On metal of hard core
His freak,
Deep must he carve and bore.

Hard is the task! You hold
As I, the Muse must find
The old
Strict bondage to her mind;

That, shining, firm, the flow
Of lovely line hard-wrought
Doth show
Smooth-browed the labouring thought.

For you who do bestride
Exalted, the wild horse
Soft-eyed
That down the skies doth course;

O! you who have the sleight
To snare in net of words
Your bright
Dream-pinions like a bird's;

Master who mak'st us fain
Of the green laurel, still
You deign
To ply the tool with skill.





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