Be gentle with me: for thou knowest not yet The utter need there is in me of love. Oh! though the poets' brows, bay-crowned above, Shine famously,—look close, their eyes are wet. The sorrow of all the earth God's hand has set Upon them for a wreath,—and in strange fashion To understand in soul earth's every passion: For this it is that earth is in their debt. What the slow heartless lover cannot feel, The poet feels for him; and tear-drops steal Adown his cheeks when others cannot sorrow. What wonder then if sometimes in his heart There is a yearning he cannot impart, And sweet would seem a night without a morrow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHARGE OF THE BREAD BRIGADE by EZRA POUND ELIOT'S OAK; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO GOD AND IRELAND TRUE by ELLEN O'LEARY SOME SWEET DAY by LEWIS J. BATES THE INTREPID MARINER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET GOD AND HIS MARTYRS by CHAIM NACHMAN BIALIK |