The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley [i.e. J. B. L. Warren] |
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THE ISOLATION OF SELFISH PROSPERITY |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
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 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
1
THE ISOLATION OF SELFISH PROSPERITY
To strive is something, yet to win is more.
The crownèd angels from their state declined;
And traitor pride shall make the nations blind
In days to come as in the days of yore.
The crownèd angels from their state declined;
And traitor pride shall make the nations blind
In days to come as in the days of yore.
To win is something, but content is more.
The brooks, the fountains, and the crystal meres
Are things forbidden in the restless ears
Of Care; he tastes no beauty in the shore
The brooks, the fountains, and the crystal meres
Are things forbidden in the restless ears
Of Care; he tastes no beauty in the shore
Hung with the morning, for his dreams are sere:
And, though he seat him on a throne of gold,
He cannot hear the birds sing as of old;
And all his earlier self is grown a—fear.
And, though he seat him on a throne of gold,
He cannot hear the birds sing as of old;
And all his earlier self is grown a—fear.
His eyes are on the forward region spent:
The past let fools repair, and girls regret,
And first-love dreams leave dotards' eyelids wet;
Such things are gone. He cares not how they went.
The past let fools repair, and girls regret,
And first-love dreams leave dotards' eyelids wet;
Such things are gone. He cares not how they went.
Canker'd with self and his false Mammon-King,
He boasts at large, “I am not as my race,
With me men's petty loves, dreams, ends give place
To high indifference; hours can never ring
He boasts at large, “I am not as my race,
With me men's petty loves, dreams, ends give place
To high indifference; hours can never ring
Love changes, matter for a neighbour's sneer,
On my mail'd breast: let boys and girls go whine
The shed rose leaves of passion deem'd divine.
I am not of their weakness, shall I fear?”
On my mail'd breast: let boys and girls go whine
The shed rose leaves of passion deem'd divine.
I am not of their weakness, shall I fear?”
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |