 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
177
NEGLECT OF POETRY.
On evil days I've fallen: not like him,Who brushed with his archangel-like strong wing
The throne of God, and did His missioning,
Already numbered of the Seraphim—
Who, darkling, like the Night, did yet, though dim,
Like her, celestial dews in darkness fling
From his enriching wings, and heavenward sing,
Towards the light, and, larklike, towards it climb!
But yet on evil days I've fallen: days
In which the Muse can find no audience,
But by the wayside sits, by her own bays
O'ershadowed, and concealed from vulgar sense.
So be it; yet she taketh not offence,
But makes her “sunshine in a shady place!”
| The Poetry of Real Life | |