Our youth is like a rustic at the play That cries aloud in simple-hearted fear, Curses the villain, shudders at the fray, And weeps before the maiden's wreathed bier. Yet once familiar with the changeful show, He starts no longer at a brandished knife, But, his heart chastened at the sight of woe, Ponders the mirrored sorrows of his life. So tutored too, I watch the moving art Of all this magic and impassioned pain That tells the story of the human heart In a false instance, such as poets feign; I smile, and keep within the parchment furled That prompts the passions of this strutting world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 10 by CONRAD AIKEN THE TRASH MEN by CHARLES BUKOWSKI MY FATHER'S FACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE CENTER OF GRAVITY by DAVID IGNATOW GETHSEMANE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LOVELIGHT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON RETROSPECTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |