Feel You The Barren Flattery

Shall He Who Soars, Inspired By Loftier Views, Life's Little Cares And Little Pains Refuse? Shall He Not Rather Feel A Double Share Of Mortal Woe, When Doubly Arm'd To Bear?

What Is A Church?—our Honest Sexton Tells, 'tis A Tall Building, With A Tower And Bells.

We Cannot Heal The Throbbing Heart Till We Discern The Wounds Within.

Feel You The Barren Flattery Of A Rhyme? Can Poets Soothe You, When You Pine For Bread, By Winding Myrtle Round Your Ruin'd Shed?

Genius! Thou Gift Of Heav'n! Thou Light Divine! Amid What Dangers Art Thou Doom'd To Shine! Oft Will The Body's Weakness Check Thy Force, Oft Damp Thy Vigour, And Impede Thy Course; And Trembling Nerves Compel Thee To Restrain Thy Noble Efforts, To Contend With Pain; Or Want (sad Guest!) Will In Thy Presence Come, And Breathe Around Her Melancholy Gloom: To Life's Low Cares Will Thy Proud Thought Confine, And Make Her Sufferings, Her Impatience, Thine.