IF we are one, dear friend! why shouldst thou be At once unequal to thyself and me? By thy release thou swell'st my debt the more, And dost but rob thyself to make me poor. What part can I have in thy luminous cone? What flame, since my love's thine, can call my own? The palest star is less the son of night, Who, but thy borrow'd, know no native light: Was't not enough thou freely didst bestow The Muse, but thou wouldst give the laurel too? And twice my aims by thy assistance raise, Conferring first the merit, then the praise? But I should do thee greater injury, Did I believe this praise were meant to me, Or thought, though thou hast worth enough to spare, T' enrich another soul, that mine should share. Thy Muse, seeming to lend, calls home her fame, And her due wreath doth in renouncing claim. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPISODE OF HANDS by HAROLD HART CRANE TWO WITCHES: 1. THE WITCH OF COOS by ROBERT FROST SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 90 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE PROGRESS OF POETRY by JONATHAN SWIFT THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 5. THE CHANGELING by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER HYMN TO SANTA RITA; THE PATRON SAINT OF THE IMPOSSIBLE by ALVEY AUGUSTUS ADEE |