Classic Poem

Yes, pray thy God to give, whate'er thou art,
Some work to be by thee with reverence wrought:
Some trumpet note obeyed, some good fight fought,
Ere thou lay down thy weapons and depart.
Brood on thyself, until thy lamp be spent;
Bind all thy force to compass and invent;
But shun the reveries of voluptuous thought,
Day musings, the floralia of the heart
And vain imaginations: else may start
Beside the portals of thy tower or tent,
Rending thy trance with dissonant clang and jar,
A summons that shall drive thee wild to hear —
Loud, as when in the dreaming conqueror's ear
Antigenidas blew a point of war.