And to the road and riverbed
And the green, nodding reeds, I said
Mine ignorant and last farewell:
Now with content at home I dwell,
And now divide my sluggish life
Betwixt my verses and my wife:
In vain; for when the lamp is lit
And by the laughing fire I sit,
Still with the tattered atlas spread
Interminable roads I tread.
Similar Posts
NOT thine where marble-still and white
And mock the uneven modern flight,But in the streamOf daily sorrow and delightTo seek a theme.I too, O friend, have steeled my heartBoldly to choose the better part,To leave the beaten ways of art,And wholly freeTo dare, beyond the scanty chart,The deeper sea.All vain restrictions left behind,Frail bark! I loose my anchored mindAnd large, before…
IT’S forth across the roaring foam, and on towards the west,
From where the dogs of Scotland call the sheep around the fold,To where the flags are flying beside the Gates of Gold.Where all the deep-sea galleons ride that come to bring the corn,Where falls the fog at eventide and blows the breeze at morn;It’s there that I was sick and sad, alone and poor and…
CALL me not rebel, though { here at every word
If I no longer hail thee { King and Lord{ Lord and KingI have redeemed myself with all I had,And now possess my fortunes poor but glad.With all I had I have redeemed myself,And escaped at once from slavery and pelf.The unruly wishes must a ruler take,Our high desires do our low fortunes make:Those only…
BY sunny market-place and street
And wherever I go in my coat of redThe ribbons flutter about my head.I seek recruits for wars to come –For slaughterless wars I beat the drum,And the shilling I give to each new allyIs hope to live and courage to die.I know that new recruits shall comeWherever I beat the sounding drum,Till the roar…
O CHIEF director of the growing race,
Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgiveBefore from labour I make haste to live?Some burn to gather wealth, lay hands on rule,Or with white statues fill the atrium full.The talking hearth, the rafters sweet with smoke,Live fountains and rough grass, my line invoke:A sturdy slave, not too learned wife,Nights filled with slumber, and a quiet…
STRANGE are the ways of men,
We tread the mazy pathsThat all our fathers trod.We tread them undismayed,And undismayed beholdThe portents of the sky,The things that were of old.The fiery stars pursueTheir course in heav’n on high;And round the ‘leaguered town,Crest-tossing heroes cry.Crest-tossing heroes cry;And martial fifes declareHow small, to mortal minds,Is merely mortal care.And to the clang of steelAnd cry…