RICH labour is the struggle to be wise, While we make sure the struggle cannot cease. Else better were it in some bower of peace Slothful to swing, contending with the flies. You point at Wisdom fixed on lofty skies, As mid barbarian hordes a sculptured Greece: She falls. To live and shine, she grows her fleece, Is shorn, and rubs with follies and with lies. So following her, your hewing may attain The right to speak unto the mute, and shun That sly temptation of the illumined brain, Deliveries oracular, self-spun. Who sweats not with the flock will seek in vain To shed the words which are ripe fruit of sun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON A JACOBITE by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THE WALKER OF THE SNOW by CHARLES DAWSON SHANLY THE NOTHING REDEMPTION by BRUCE WEIGL PSALM 88 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE HASTINGS' SONNETS: 4 by SAMUEL EGERTON BRYDGES APRIL ORANGE BLOSSOMS by THOMAS CASEY THE IMMORTALS by SAMUEL VALENTINE COLE THE END by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE TO REV. WALTER BAGOT; EXCUSE FOR DELAY IN WRITING TO HIM by WILLIAM COWPER |