O poet of the time to be, My conqueror, I began for thee. Enter into thy poet's pain, And take the riches of the rain, And make the perfect year for me. Thou unto whom my lyre shall fall, Whene'er thou comest, hear my call. O, keep the promise of my lays, Take the sweet parable of my days; I trust thee with the aim of all. And if thy thoughts unfold from me, Know that I too have hints of thee, Dim hopes that come across my mind In the rare days of warmer wind, And tones of summer in the sea. And I have set thy paths, I guide Thy blossoms on the wild hillside. And I, thy bygone poet, share The flowers that throng thy feet where I led thy feet before I died. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PICKING AND CHOOSING by MARIANNE MOORE HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 11 by EZRA POUND TWO SONNETS: 1 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON DOWNFALL OF POLAND [FALL OF WARSAW, 1794] by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER by THOMAS MOORE LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE NEAR CALAIS [AUGUST 1802] by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |