Our youth is like a rustic at the play That cries aloud in simple-hearted fear, Curses the villain, shudders at the fray, And weeps before the maiden's wreathed bier. Yet once familiar with the changeful show, He starts no longer at a brandished knife, But, his heart chastened at the sight of woe, Ponders the mirrored sorrows of his life. So tutored too, I watch the moving art Of all this magic and impassioned pain That tells the story of the human heart In a false instance, such as poets feign; I smile, and keep within the parchment furled That prompts the passions of this strutting world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LONDON VOLUNTARIES: 3. SCHERZANDO by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY ANECDOTE OF THE JAR by WALLACE STEVENS NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 5 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE CLIFF-TOP by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES KITTY OF THE SHERRAGH VANE by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT IN SLEEP by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE CANTERBURY TALES: THE PRIORESS'S TALE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |