I TAKE no notice of the blockheads tame Who, seeming to be golden, are but sand; I never offer to that rogue my hand Who secretly would injure my good name; I bow not to the harlots who proclaim Boldly their infamy throughout the land; And when in victor-cars the rabble band Draw their vain idols, with them I ne'er came. Well know I that the oak must fall indeed, Whilst by the streamlet's side the pliant reed Stands in all winds and weathers, fearing not; But say, what is the reed's eventual lot? What joy! As walking-stick it serves the dandy, Or else for beating clothes they find it handy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INTO BATTLE by JULIAN GRENFELL THE SOFTNESS OF SYBARIS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS BEAUTY by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG HUMAN PLEASURE OR PAIN by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS DEAR MINNA by MAXWELL BODENHEIM M. T. W. by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN ON THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, LORD HERBERT by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |