I would not be a dogmatist, Banging a heavy, hairy fist To crack the pint-pots on the table. But I would dream as I am able And noose God's wonders in a twist Of quaintest thought and rippled rhyme; By happy turns of fortunate phrase Would capture Faith, and teach stern Time To mend his ways. I have heard out the burning boys, And now they tire me with their noise. Where there's intense belief, why scoff it? But rare's the code and rare's the prophet With the sincere, authentic voice; And all may rattle iron-ware Or fling a torch, Salmoneus-like, Crying "It thunders -- lightens!" ere Real lightnings strike. They premise and they start to "prove"; And then you're in another groove As narrow as the one disputed. Another moiety fitly suited, -- But all the world? -- all men approve The self-same set of able rules? I've yet to see them. So, for me, Dreams and vast wonderment; a fool's Wisdom, maybe! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HEART OF A WOMAN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MODERN LOVE: 30 by GEORGE MEREDITH LITTLE BILLEE by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH A NANTUCKET SHELL by CHARLES HENRY WEBB QUITS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MR. MERRY'S LAMENT FOR LONG TOM by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |