Our age has Caesars, though they wear silk hats And govern vaster continents than Rome, The bishops tend their bellies and wear spats And lie like ancient oracles: at home Circe, bored with triumphs on the stage, Sets the table and pours out the wine, Tries twenty-eight expressions to engage, Bewitch and rob her smug enamored swine. If we have prophets calling for revolts Who shake the skies until the old worlds crack, For every hero there are twenty dolts, And Tartuffe hovers behind Lenin's back: And Madame Pompadour and you, my dear, Differ only in name and class and year. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 15. RATHER DEEDS THAN WORDS by PHILIP AYRES THE INVIOLATE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN TO - (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 6 by THOMAS CAMPION AN ELEGY UPON THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY by JOHN CLEVELAND LOVE, ALWAYS A TALKATIVE COMPANION by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |