WHAT countless years and wealth of brain were spent To bring us hither from our caves and huts, And trace through pathless wilds the deep-worn ruts Of faith and habit, by whose deep indent Prudence may guide if genius be not lent, — Genius, not always happy when it shuts Its ears against the plodder's ifs and buts, Hoping in one rash leap to snatch the event. The coursers of the sun, whose hoofs of flame Consume morn's misty threshold, are exact As bankers' clerks, and all this star-poised frame, One swerve allowed, were with convulsion rackt; This world were doomed, should Dulness fail, to tame Wit's feathered heels in the stern stocks of fact. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR by GEORGE GORDON BYRON CRITICS AND CONNOISSEURS by MARIANNE MOORE TO A STEAM ROLLER by MARIANNE MOORE THE DREAM THAT CRACKED A WHIP by FRANCES AIRTH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 19. AL-FATTA'H by EDWIN ARNOLD |