TOIL on, poor muser, to attain that goal Where Art conceals its grandest, noblest prize; Count every tear that dims your aching eyes, Count all the years that seem as days, and roll The death-tides slowly on; count all your sighs; Search the wide, wondrous earth from pole to pole, Tear unbelief from out your martyred soul; Succumb not, chase despondency, be wise; Work, toil, and struggle with the brush or pen, Revel in rhyme, strain intellect and ken; Live on and hope despite man's sceptic leers; Praise the Ideal with your every breath, Give it life, youth and glory, blood and tears, And to possess it pay its tribute -- Death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GETTING A WORD IN by JAMES GALVIN SWALLOW FLIGHT by SARA TEASDALE BE TRUE [THYSELF] by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR TO MY SISTER by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): HYLAS by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 89, 90. MU'HTI, MANI'H by EDWIN ARNOLD EPITAPH ON SUSANNAH BARBAULD MARISSAL by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TWELVE SONNETS: 11. FIRST, BATTLE; THEN, WOMAN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |