MY temples throb, my pulses boil, I'm sick of Song, and Ode, and Ballad-- So, Thyrsis, take the Midnight Oil, And pour it on a lobster salad. My brain is dull, my sight is foul, I cannot write a verse, or read,-- Then, Pallas, take away thine Owl, And let us have a lark instead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DESPAIR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SOLDIER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |