THUS I lift the sash, so long Shut against the flight of song; All too late for vain excuse, -- Lo, my captive rhymes are loose! Rhymes that, flitting through my brain, Beat against my window-pane, Some with gayly colored wings, Some, alas! with venomed stings. Shall they bask in sunny rays? Shall they feed on sugared praise? Shall they stick with tangled feet On the critic's poisoned sheet? Are the outside winds too rough? Is the world not wide enough? Go, my winged verse, and try, -- Go, like Uncle Toby's fly! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVELY CHANCE by SARA TEASDALE REASONS FOR DRINKING by HENRY ALDRICH THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN by ROBERT BROWNING THE AFRICAN CHIEF by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT OPPORTUNITY by NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN by CAROLINA OLIPHANT NAIRNE MORAL ESSAYS: EPISTLE 4. TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL BURLINGTON by ALEXANDER POPE |