We dwell in these melodious days When every author trolls his lays; And all, except myself and you, Must up and print the nonsense, too. Why then, if this be so indeed, If adamantine walls recede And old Apollo's gardens gape For Arry and the grinder's ape; I too may enter in perchance Where paralytic graces dance, And cheering on each tottering set Blow my falsetto flageolet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM AND EMILY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS FIRST BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 11 by THOMAS CAMPION ONE LIFE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SIX O'CLOCK by TRUMBULL STICKNEY DANS LA BOHEME by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 63. AL-HAIY by EDWIN ARNOLD |