A SPIRIT came to my sad bed, And weary sad that night was I, Who'd tottered, since the dawn was red, Through miles of Grosvenor Gallery, Yea, leagues of long Academy Awaited me when morn grew white, 'Twas then the Spirit whispered nigh, "Take up the pen, my friend, and write! "Of many a portrait grey as lead, Of many a mustard-coloured sky, Say much, where little should be said, Lay on thy censure dexterously, With microscopic glances pry At textures, Tadema's delight, Praise foreign swells they always sky, Take up the pen, my friend, and write!" I answered, "'Tis for daily bread, A sorry crust, I ween, and dry, That still, with aching feet and head, I push this lawful industry, 'Mid pictures hung or low, or high, But, touching that which I indite, Do artists hold me lovingly? Take up the pen, my friend, and write." ENVOY. "They fain would black thy dexter eye, They hate thee with a bitter spite, But scribble since thou must, or die, Take up the pen, my friend, and write!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT THE CHURCH DOOR by GEORGE SANTAYANA TO A WEALTHY MAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE POPLAR by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM HIPPOLYTUS TEMPORIZES by HILDA DOOLITTLE UNDER MY WINDOW by THOMAS WESTWOOD THE WALLABOUT MARTYRS by WALT WHITMAN ON A VOLUME OF ANONYNOUS POEMS ENTITLED A MASQUE OF POETS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO A MISSIONARY, WHO ATTENDED ... MEETING OF BIBLE SOCIETY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |