 | Romance and revery |  |
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REMONSTRANCE.
Nay, poet, idly will you claim
To scorn the hurts your wrongers give.
It is your merit, not your shame,
That you are nobly sensitive!
To scorn the hurts your wrongers give.
It is your merit, not your shame,
That you are nobly sensitive!
The burrowing slug, that prowls and delves,
Can fret the imperial oak's repose,
And clammy worms can wrap themselves
In virgin velvets of the rose.
Can fret the imperial oak's repose,
And clammy worms can wrap themselves
In virgin velvets of the rose.
And so while stabs may futile be
To win your least subservient moan,
Hide not your wounds, but let them see
Your blood is redder than their own!
To win your least subservient moan,
Hide not your wounds, but let them see
Your blood is redder than their own!
Ah, me, thrice happier is your fate
To feel the lash of slander fall,
Though tipped with acrimonious hate
And steeped for days in envy's gall,
To feel the lash of slander fall,
Though tipped with acrimonious hate
And steeped for days in envy's gall,
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Than once to watch, while seasons roll,
This fire of song grow less intense
That on the altar of your soul
Burns now in luminous eminence!
This fire of song grow less intense
That on the altar of your soul
Burns now in luminous eminence!
| Romance and revery | |