SURE 'twas some God, in kindness first to men, Taught us the curious art to use the pen. 'Tis strange the speaking quill should, without noise, Express the various tones of human voice. Of loudest accents we no sound retain, Voice to its native air resolves again; Yet tho' as wind words seem to pass away, By pen we can their very echoes stay. When we from other converse are confin'd, This can reveal the secrets of the mind: All authors must to it their praises own, For 'twas the pen that made their labours known. Good acts with bad tradition would confound, But what we writ is kept entire and sound: Of this ingenious art Fame loudly sings, Which gives us lasting words, and lasting things. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HEMP (A VIRGINIA LEGEND) by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE BEING AS VISION by HAYDEN CARRUTH ODE TO THE JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY by SIDNEY LANIER DOMESDAY BOOK: GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SONG OF THE MOON by CLAUDE MCKAY YOU ARE FIRE EATERS by MARIANNE MOORE WITH BEST WISHES by DOROTHY PARKER ELEGY: THE LAMENT OF EDWARD BLASTOCK; FOR RICHARD ROWLEY by EDITH SITWELL |