EUTYCHIDES is dead, and what is worse (fly wretched shades!) he's coming with his verse. And listen! they have burned upon his pyre two tons of music, and a ton of lyre. You're caught, poor ghosts. But what I want to know is where in Hell, now he's in hell, to go. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 88. A DAY IN SUSSEX by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ASOLANDO: NOW by ROBERT BROWNING TO THE UNIMPLORED BELOVED by EDWARD SHANKS LAPLAND by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD AN IMITATION OF SPENCER by WILLIAM BLAKE LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1944 by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: CHARLES AVISON by ROBERT BROWNING |