THIS thing, that thing is the rage, Helter-skelter runs the age; Minds on this round earth of ours Vary like the leaves and flowers, Fashion'd after certain laws; Sing thou low or loud or sweet, All at all points thou canst not meet, Some will pass and some will pause. What is true at last will tell: Few at first will place thee well; Some too low would have thee shine, Some too high -- no fault of thine -- Hold thine own, and work thy will! Year will graze the heel of year, But seldom comes the poet here, And the Critic's rarer still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TRIBUTE OF GRASSES by HAMLIN GARLAND PRE-EXISTENCE by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE SESTINA OF THE TRAMP ROYAL by RUDYARD KIPLING A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET; OCTOBER, 1746 by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AT MIDSUMMER by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 24 by OMAR KHAYYAM TIME TO RISE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |