I TAKE no notice of the blockheads tame Who, seeming to be golden, are but sand; I never offer to that rogue my hand Who secretly would injure my good name; I bow not to the harlots who proclaim Boldly their infamy throughout the land; And when in victor-cars the rabble band Draw their vain idols, with them I ne'er came. Well know I that the oak must fall indeed, Whilst by the streamlet's side the pliant reed Stands in all winds and weathers, fearing not; But say, what is the reed's eventual lot? What joy! As walking-stick it serves the dandy, Or else for beating clothes they find it handy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FLESH AND THE SPIRIT by ANNE BRADSTREET HIPPOLYTUS TEMPORIZES by HILDA DOOLITTLE THE VALSE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE DINKEY-BIRD by EUGENE FIELD THE WANING MOON by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY IMPRESSIONS: LES SILHOUETTES by OSCAR WILDE THE WHITE BIRDS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS DOVE RIVER ANTHOLOGY, BY OWN WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: LUCY GRAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |