'WHAT art thou, presumptuous, who profanest The wreath to mighty poets only due, Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest? Touch not those leaves which for the eternal few Who wander o'er the paradise of fame, In sacred dedication ever grew: One of the crowd thou art without a name,' 'Ah, friend,'t is the false laurel that I wear. Bright though it seem, it is not the same As that which bound Milton's immortal hair: Its dew is poison; and the hopes that quicken Under its chilling shade, though seeming fair, Are flowers which die almost before they sicken.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME by ROBERT HERRICK FAREWELL OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTERS SOLD INTO BONDAGE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BALLADE OF A TRAVELLER'S JINX by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 11. LOVE WILL OUT by PHILIP AYRES ONCE WE PLAYED by MATHILDE BLIND HADRIAN IN EGYPT by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |