OTHERS, more skilled than I To serve the Sacred Nine, On whose reluctant shrine My first-fruits fall and die From day to day; Others, who wear the bays That I can never wear, Found, and still find it, dear Delight to give you praise In fitting way. Many have weaved their rhymes, That run with easy grace To mark some hour or place By choicest thought that chimes, Bell-like and clear; But of them all not one Wished you so much as I All the good things that lie In Heaven's lap; and none Was more sincere! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RHINOCEROS by HILAIRE BELLOC PORTRAIT OF A BABY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE, MY LITTLE ONE' by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BARNEY HAINSFEATHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE WIZARD IN WORDS by MARIANNE MOORE |