 | The Poems of Sir William Watson |  |
TU QUOQUE
Year after year, it grows more hard
For the Poet to capture the world's regard,
And the world asks lightly, What ails the bard?
For the Poet to capture the world's regard,
And the world asks lightly, What ails the bard?
But it never asks if some deep ill
Be making its soul more hard to thrill—
Some malady there, past leech's skill.
Be making its soul more hard to thrill—
Some malady there, past leech's skill.
| The Poems of Sir William Watson | |