Classic Poem

Rude mass of earth, from which with moiled hands
(Compulsive taught) the brittle tubes I form,
Oft listless, while my vagrant fancy warm
Roves (heedless of necessity's demands)
Amid Parnassian bowers, or wishful eyes
The flight of Genius, while sublime she soars
Of moral truth in search, or earth explores,
Or sails with Science through the starry skies:
Yet must I own (unsightly clod) thy claim
To my attention, for thou art my stead.
When grows importunate the voice of need,
And in the furnace thy last change I speed,
Ah! then how eager do I urge the flame,
How anxious watch thee mid that glowing fire,
That threats my eyeballs with extinction dire!