YOU scorn as idle -- you who praise Each posturing hero of the herd -- The lofty bearing of a phrase, The noble countenance of a word. "This has no import for the age!" And so your votive wreaths you heap On him who brought unto our Stage A mightier dulness o'er the deep. Great Heaven! When these with clamour shrill Drift out to Lethe's harbour bar, A verse of Lovelace shall be still As vivid as a pulsing star. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MAID'S LAMENT; ELIZABETHAN by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR IN MEMORY OF GENERAL GRANT by HENRY ABBEY THE ANGRY ONES by BERTON BRALEY THE NEGLECTED HEART by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON MASQUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET: SONG (1) by THOMAS CAMPION INTERLUDE IN THE EVERGLADES by THOMAS CASEY THE BOTHIE OF TOBER-NA-VUOLICH; A LONG VACATION PASTORAL by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH |