I dreamed I wrote an ode, and was not slack To bring it where two mighty umpires dealt The prize; but deep-mouthed Pindar bade me back, And laughing Horace - like a boy I felt, Who, idly thrumming on a single hair, Stretched from his forehead, with his simple head And child's ear close upon it, fancy-fed, Conceits himself a harpist then and there; I woke, and murmured o'er a humbler strain, A sonnet - smiling at my classic dream - But still I may misuse some honest theme, Tinkling this idle outgrowth of my brain; A hair amid the harpstrings! my weak words May pass unheard among the rolling chords. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LARK ASCENDING by GEORGE MEREDITH MUSIC IN THE NIGHT by HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD A SONG FOR MY FELLOWS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON PRINCE ARTHUR: THE CRYSTAL PALACES by RICHARD BLACKMORE SEALED ORDERS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON HOMELESS MEN by KATHERINE GUNN DAME |