When shall they crown a poet?—they have twined Around the lordly brows of poets dead White lilies, dark-green bay-leaves, roses red,— And golden crowns and silver have designed For singers clustered in the years behind. But ah! the living lonely thorn-pierced head! Rain-drops and dew-drops in the roses' stead Crown the tired forehead,—and the weary wind. When shall they crown a poet?—When his ears Are deaf for ever to the sound of praise. Then will the world's heart open to his lays And his sweet singing move men's souls to tears. Art-pilgrims who would with coarse gibes have spurned Live Shelley, maunder round his Heart inurned. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS by ROBERT BURNS THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME by ROBERT HERRICK CHANGED by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A HYMN WRITTEN IN WINDSOR FOREST by ALEXANDER POPE THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST by ALISON RUTHERFORD FRED ENGLEHARDT'S BABY by CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS APRIL - AND DYING by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH WHEN THE FOLKS COME ALONG by FREDERICK L. ALLEN EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 34. TRUE LOVE KNOWS BUT ONE by PHILIP AYRES |