Our age has Caesars, though they wear silk hats And govern vaster continents than Rome, The bishops tend their bellies and wear spats And lie like ancient oracles: at home Circe, bored with triumphs on the stage, Sets the table and pours out the wine, Tries twenty-eight expressions to engage, Bewitch and rob her smug enamored swine. If we have prophets calling for revolts Who shake the skies until the old worlds crack, For every hero there are twenty dolts, And Tartuffe hovers behind Lenin's back: And Madame Pompadour and you, my dear, Differ only in name and class and year. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON DRINKING IN A BOWL by ANACREON THE SPHINX by RALPH WALDO EMERSON AN HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN FROM IRELAND by ANDREW MARVELL IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 5 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): JASON'S SOWING AND REAPING by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS SPANISH WINGS: SENORITA by H. BABCOCK SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 12. VENUS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |