THE vast Parnassus never knew thy face, O Muse of mine, O frail and tender elf That dancest in a moonbeam to thyself Where olives rustle in a lonely place! And yet ... thou hast a sort of Tuscan grace; Thou may'st outlive me! Some unborn Filelf One day may range thee on his studious shelf With Lenau, Leopardi, and their race. And so, some time, the sole sad scholar's friend, The melancholy comrade of his dreams, Thou may'st, O Muse, escape a little while The none the less inevitable end: Take heart, therefore, and sing the thing that seems, And watch the world's disaster with a smile. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH AND CUPID by ELIZABETH I ABOU BEN ADHEM by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT A DIRGE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SATIRES: 51. UPON NOTHING by JOHN WILMOT STEAMBOATS, VIADUCTS, AND RAILWAYS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE SPIRIT AND THE CUP by A. E. ANDERSON THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 67. THE THREE AGES OF WOMAN: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |