SEE ALL TAGS & MOODS
Not marble nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
I am the people — the mob — the crowd — the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world’s food and clothes.
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and…
Pavement slipp’ry, people sneezing,
Lords in ermine, beggars freezing;
Titled gluttons dainties carving,
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicéan barks of yore,
That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my Gates,
And my divine Althea brings
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever;
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee,
That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf’s hands
No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere
I see Heaven’s glories shine
