Boon Nature yields each day a brag which we now first behold, And trains us on to slight the new, as if it were the old: But blest is he, who, playing deep, yet haply asks not why, Too busied with the crowded hour to fear to live or die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MAN'S REQUIREMENTS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SONNET: ON FAME (1) by JOHN KEATS ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 13. TO AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OF HOUSE OF BRANDENBURGH by MARK AKENSIDE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 12. THE CREATOR by EDWIN ARNOLD EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 42. AUGMENTED BY FAVOURABLE BLASTS by PHILIP AYRES FECUNDI CALICES by BACCHYLIDES |