O'LEARY was a poet--for a while: He sang of many ladies frail and fair, The rolling glory of their golden hair, And emperors extinguished with a smile. They foiled his years with many an ancient wile, And if they limped, O'Leary didn't care: He turned them loose and had them everywhere, Undoing saints and senates with their guile. But this was not the end. A year ago I met him--and to meet was to admire: Forgotten were the ladies and the lyre, And the small, ink-fed Eros of his dream. By questioning I found a man to know-- A failure spared, a Shadrach of the Gleam. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMAGINARY ANCESTORS: THE GIRAFFE WOMAN OF BURMA by MADELINE DEFREES WERENA MY HEART'S LICHT I WAD DEE by GRISELL BAILLIE IMPRESSION by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 2. THE WRECK OF RIVERMOUTH by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE PENDULUM by JURGIS BALTRUSHAITIS HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 12 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |