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I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.
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Nor the tame will, nor timid brain, Nor heavy knitting of the brow...
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I am content to live it all again, And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch.
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"I will not be clapped in a hood, Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,...
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Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
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