Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WORDS, WORDS, WORDS'; TO ONE WHO FLOUTED THEM AS VAIN, by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WORDS, WORDS, WORDS'; TO ONE WHO FLOUTED THEM AS VAIN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Am I not weary of them as your heart
Last Line: This world were but for beasts, a darkling den
Alternate Author Name(s): Hedbrooke, Andrew
Subject(s): Poetry & Poets


I

AM I not weary of them as your heart
Or ever Hamlet was was? the empty ones,
Mere breath of passing air, mere hollow tones
That idle winds to broken reeds impart.

Have they not cursed my life? sounds I mistook
For sacred verities, love, faith, delight,
And the sweet tales that women tell at night,
When darkness hides the falsehood of the look.

I was the one of all Ulysses crew
(What time he stopped their ears) that leaped and fled
Unto the sirens, for the honey-dew

Of their dear songs. The poets me have fed
With the same poisoned fruit. And even you,
Did you not pluck them for me in days dead?

II

Nay, they do bear a blessing and a power,
Great words and true, that bridge from soul to soul
The awful cloud-depths that betwixt us roll.
I will not have them so blasphemed. This hour,

This little hour of life, this lean to-day,
What were it worth but for those mighty dreams
That sweep from down the past on sounding streams
Of such high-thoughted words as poets say?

What, but for Shakespeare's and for Homer's lay,
And bards whose sacred names all lips repeat?
Words, only words ; yet, save for tongue and pen

Of those great givers of them unto men,
And burdens they still bear of grave or sweet,
This world were but for beasts, a darkling den.





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