To a Poet in the City
Cherish thy muse! for life hath little more,
Save what we hold in common with the herd:
Oh, blessing of these woods! to walk unstirred
By clash of commerce and the city's roar!
What finds the scholar in those flaming walls
But wearied people, hurrying to and fro,
Most with too high, and many without aim,
Crowded in vans or sweltering in huge halls
To hear loud emptiness or see the show?
Were this a life to — scape the Muses — blame?
Rather than such would I the Pareæ ask,
Folding mine arms, to stretch me on the floor
Where Agamemnon in his golden mask
Dreams not of Argolis or Argos more.
Save what we hold in common with the herd:
Oh, blessing of these woods! to walk unstirred
By clash of commerce and the city's roar!
What finds the scholar in those flaming walls
But wearied people, hurrying to and fro,
Most with too high, and many without aim,
Crowded in vans or sweltering in huge halls
To hear loud emptiness or see the show?
Were this a life to — scape the Muses — blame?
Rather than such would I the Pareæ ask,
Folding mine arms, to stretch me on the floor
Where Agamemnon in his golden mask
Dreams not of Argolis or Argos more.
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