Muse, we have rhymed of Liberty, Have damned the Germans, cheered for France, Exalted Belgium's constancy -- Bowed to the times and circumstance: But have we given of our best? Have we not drawn from brackish springs Dead water? Have we stood the test, The test that Life, Life only, brings? Reflected from her eyes, they fade, Those rhymes of ours; they thin and are As if they never had been made. -- Poor Muse! and must the blight of war Destroy in us the seeds of song. Leave us no hope for flower or fruit? Must all that touches war go wrong, Leaf-withered, blasted at the root? Not all. But, Muse of mine, our hearts Have not the mighty pulse that shakes The soul of nations. Song departs From us, when all we sang of breaks From all we hoped for -- peace on earth, Good will to men of kindly will, Beauty.... But what is beauty worth In a crazed world where man must kill Man, to make Truth come true? Poor Muse, Bewildered Muse of mine, farewell! Find thou some Heaven apart! I choose To labor, not to sing, in Hell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHANSON INNOCENTE: 2, FR. TULIPS by EDWARD ESTLIN CUMMINGS FREEDOM by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE CHOIR INVISIBLE by MARY ANN EVANS AFTER MUSIC by JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY IMPROMPTU TO LADY WINCHILSEA by ALEXANDER POPE IN SICKNESS (1714) by JONATHAN SWIFT CRADLE SONG (TO A TUNE OF BLAKE'S): 1 by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |