A NEIGHBOUR, now, shall aged Sibyl have, For I'll withdraw to Cuma's sacred cave, Where I, Vesuvius-like, when year attire My head with snow, shall still maintain my fire. In hatred of the World my days I'll spend, Till with despite my wretched life shall end; My haughty plumes I've clipp'd, I'll soar no more, So the Fates cut what they had spun before. I was, when bad, of virtuous men despis'd, And by the scourge vice brings with it, chastis'd; That course I left, and turning good again, Was hated, and oppress'd by wicked men. Thus seems the partial world on all sides bent, Its utmost spite on wretched me to vent. My sins were fruitless: must, when life is done, Virtue lie buried in oblivion? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUNG BLOOD by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING II by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE WAY OF THE CONVENTICLE OF THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO JOHN BROWN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IN 'DESIGNING A CLOAK TO CLOAK HIS DESIGNS' YOU WRESTED FROM OBLIVION by MARIANNE MOORE |