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Poem by Henry Timrod


Sonnets. 4. They Dub Thee Idler, Smiling Sneeringly


They dub thee idler, smiling sneeringly,
And why? because, forsooth, so many moons,
Here dwelling voiceless by the voiceful sea,
Thou hast not set thy thoughts to paltry tunes
In song or sonnet.  Them these golden noons
Oppress not with their beauty; they could prate,
Even while a prophet read the solemn runes
On which is hanging some imperial fate.
How know they, these good gossips, what to thee
The ocean and its wanderers may have brought?
How know they, in their busy vacancy,
With what far aim thy spirit may be fraught?
Or that thou dost not bow thee silently
Before some great unutterable thought?



Henry Timrod


Henry Timrod's other poems:
  1. To Thee
  2. Two Portraits
  3. The Cotton Boll
  4. The Stream is Flowing from the West
  5. The Arctic Voyager


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