DEAR Knight, how great a drudge is he Who would excel in poetry! And yet how few have learnt the art To inform the head, or touch the heart! Some, with a dry and barren brain, Poor rogues! like costive lapdogs strain; While others with a flux of wit, The reader and their friends besh–t. Would you (Sir Knight) my judgement know? He still writes worst who writes so-so, In this the mighty secret lies: To elevate, and to surprise. Thus far my pen at random run; The fire was out, the clock struck one. When lo! strange hollow murmurs from without Invade my ears. In ev'ry quarter roused, The warring winds rush from their rocky caves Tumultuous; the vapours dank or dry, Beneath their standards ranged, with low'ring front Darken the welkin. At each dreadful shock Oaks, pines and elms down to their mother earth Bend low their suppliant heads. The nodding tow'rs Menace destruction, and old Edrick's house From its foundation shakes. The bellying clouds Burst into rain, or gild their sable skirts With flakes of ruddy fire; fierce elements In ruin reconciled! redoubled peals Of ceaseless thunder roar. Convulsions rend The firmament. The whole creation stands Mute and appalled, and trembling waits its doom. And now perhaps (dear friend) you wonder, In this dread scene of wind, rain, thunder, What a poor guilty wretch could do. Then hear (for, faith, I tell you true), I pissed, thrice shook my giddy head, Let a great f—t, and went to bed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE BLACK-EYED REBEL by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON A STRANGE MEETING by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES QUATRAIN: FATE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: DEDICATORY SONNET by EDMUND SPENSER THE HAYLOFT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 2 by MARK AKENSIDE THE RAIN ON THE ROOF by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON FRAGMENT OF AN EPISTLE TO THOMAS MOORE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |