I rake no coffined clay, nor publish wide The resurrection of departed pride Safe in their ancient crannies dark & deep Let kings & conquerors saints & soldiers sleep. Late in the world too late perchance for fame Just late enough to reap abundant blame I choose a novel theme, a bold abuse Of critic charters, an unlaurelled muse. Old mouldy men & books & names & lands Disgust my reason & defile my hands I had as lief respect an ancient shoe As love Old things @3for age@1, & hate the new. I spurn the Past, my mind disdains its nod Nor kneels in homage to so mean a god. I laugh at those who while they & gaze The bald antiquity of China praise. Youth is (whatever Cynic tubs pretend) The fault that boys & nations soonest mend. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUSSIAN ARMY GOES INTO BAKU by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER STANZAS FOR MUSIC (2) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON EVIL EASIER THAN GOOD by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH FROM POOLS OF DEEPER THOUGHT by MAUDE HARDY ARNOLD THE DEATH OF HUSS by ALFRED AUSTIN TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR UPON HIS POEM by CHRISTOPHER BROOKE |