AH, Postumus, we all must go: This keen North-Easter nips my shoulder; My strength begins to fail; I know You find me older; I've made my Will. Dear, faithful friend -- My Muse's friend and not my purse's! Who still would hear and still commend My tedious verses, -- How will you live -- of these deprived? I've learned your candid soul. The venal, -- The sordid friend had scarce survived A test so penal; But you -- Nay, nay, 'tis so. The rest Are not as you: you hide your merit; You, more than all, deserve the best True friends inherit; -- Not gold, -- that hearts like yours despise; Not 'spacious dirt' (your own expression), No; but the rarer, dearer prize -- The Life's Confession! You catch my thought? What! Can't you guess? You, you alone, admired my Cantos; -- I've left you, P., my whole MS., In three portmanteaus! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GARDEN FANCIES: 1. THE FLOWER'S NAME by ROBERT BROWNING AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 1. THE BALLAD-SINGER by THOMAS HARDY THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO MISS RIGBY, ON HER ATTENDANCE UPON HER MOTHER AT BUXTON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE STALLION OF NIGHT by WILLIAM ROSE BENET AN EPISTLE THROWN INTO A RIVER IN A BALL OF WAX by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) MORNING AND AFTERNOON by PHOEBE CARY INSCRIPTION FOR A STONE ERECTED AT SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS by WILLIAM COWPER |