HENCE, vain intruder, haste away! Wash not with thy unhallow'd brine The footsteps of my Celia's shrine; Nor on her purer altars lay Thy empty words, accents that may Some looser dame to love incline: She must have offerings more divine; Such pearly drops as youthful May Scatters before the rising day; Such smooth soft language, as each line Might stroke an angry god, or stay Jove's thunder, make the hearers pine With envy: do this, thou shalt be Servant to her, rival with me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CASTILIAN SONG by SARA TEASDALE FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A SUBTERRANEAN CITY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME by EZRA POUND THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: OCTOBER by EDMUND SPENSER SYSTEM by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE SHOEMAKERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |