HENCE, vain intruder, haste away! Wash not with thy unhallow'd brine The footsteps of my Celia's shrine; Nor on her purer altars lay Thy empty words, accents that may Some looser dame to love incline: She must have offerings more divine; Such pearly drops as youthful May Scatters before the rising day; Such smooth soft language, as each line Might stroke an angry god, or stay Jove's thunder, make the hearers pine With envy: do this, thou shalt be Servant to her, rival with me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN I AM DEAD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: GODWIN JAMES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A FOOL, A FOUL THING, A DISTRESSFUL LUNATIC by MARIANNE MOORE THE TOWER OF SKULLS by ISAAC ROSENBERG AUTUMN MOVEMENT by CARL SANDBURG |