LET Art awhile a gypsy be, And words a vagrant throng -- Let all the lure of Romany Come dancing up my song; Come dancing zigzag on the breeze Like whimsy thistle-down, And caring less than it to please The idlers of the town. Let Art refresh our pallid schools With crimson of the heart -- Let her forsake her cramping rules And tear her measured chart; And let her outcast brood of sound, That know the scoffer's sneer, On savage lute and lyre astound The little bards of fear. Let Art regain her virgin flaw And lose her studied grace, And run, a maiden nude, to awe The soulless market-place; Let her tired hair unfold its braid And lie along the wind, Until again we see the maid The Masters once designed. We blush at passion in our runes, And daring fancies shun; Yet rather than an age of moons Would I an hour of sun. The droning scholars far too long Have ruled the rhymes of men: Bring back the wayward flights of song And errant bards again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IMPOSSIBLE INDISPENSIBILITY OF THE ARS POETICA by HAYDEN CARRUTH POETRY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GUARDIAN OF THE RED DISK (SPOKEN BY A CITIZEN OF MALTA - 1300) by EMMA LAZARUS THE LANDSCAPE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SONNET by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |