Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON HEARING MRS. WOODHOUSE PLAY THE HARPSICHORD, by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON HEARING MRS. WOODHOUSE PLAY THE HARPSICHORD, by            
First Line: We poets pride ourselves on what
Last Line: "has made this poet my dumb slave."
Alternate Author Name(s): Davies, W. H.
Subject(s): Music & Musicians


WE poets pride ourselves on what
We feel, and not what we achieve;
The world may call our children fools,
Enough for us that we conceive.
A little wren that loves the grass
Can be as proud as any lark
That tumbles in a cloudless sky,
Up near the sun, till he becomes
The apple of that shining eye.

So, lady, I would never dare
To hear your music ev'ry day;
With those great bursts that send my nerves
In waves to pound my heart away;
And those small notes that run like mice
Bewitched by light; else on those keys --
My tombs of song -- you should engrave:
"My music, stronger than his own,
Has made this poet my dumb slave."





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