Virtue runs before the Muse, And defies her skill; She is rapt, and doth refuse To wait a painter's will. Star-adoring, occupied, Virtue cannot bend her Just to please a poet's pride, To parade her splendor. The bard must be with good intent No more his, but hers; Must throw away his pen and paint, Kneel with worshippers. Then, perchance, a sunny ray From the heaven of fire, His lost tools may overpay, And better his desire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WILD RIDE by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY BITTERNESS by VICTORIA MARY SACKVILLE-WEST A CROWNED POET by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH LILIES: 20. 'SOME DAY I WILL TELL YOU' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TAKE YOUR CHOICE: AS EDGAR LEE MASTERS WOULD HANDLE IT. HILDA HYDE by BERTON BRALEY THE THEATRE-CURTAIN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |