'TIS true the wisdom that my mind exacts Through contemplation from a heart unbent By many tempests may be stained and rent: The summer flies it mightily attracts. Yet they seem choicer than your sons of facts, Which scarce give breathing of the sty's content For their diurnal carnal nourishment: Which treat with Nature in official pacts. The deader body Nature could proclaim. Much life have neither. Let the heavens of wrath Rattle, then both scud scattering to froth. But during calms the flies of idle aim Less put the spirit out, less baffle thirst For light than swinish grunters, blest or curst. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 10 by EZRA POUND PROTESTS (AFTER A PAINTING BY HUGO BALLIN) by LOUIS UNTERMEYER FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A SUBTERRANEAN CITY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES CORIDON'S SONG (IN ISAAK WALTON'S 'COMPLEAT ANGLER') by JOHN CHALKHILL THE YARN OF THE 'NANCY BELL' by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT LEGEND by JOHN VAN ALSTYN WEAVER EUROPE; THE 72ND AND 73RD YEARS OF THESE STATES by WALT WHITMAN |