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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=464748" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To a Poet, Charles Bridges</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THOU singest, thou, me seems, <br>Coming from high Parnassus; where thy head <br>Beside the silent streams, <br>Among fast-fading blooms, hath fashioned <br>A pillow of pale dreams; <br>While from thee, sleeping, gods, of heart and soul, <br>Have taken fullest toll.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou knowest at what cost <br>Thy sleep was taken on those awful hills-- <br>What thou hast gained, and lost; <br>Thou knowest, too, if what thou art fulfils <br>The pledge of what thou wast; <br>And if all compensates the poet's wreath <br>That wounds the brow beneath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rememberest thou that night <br>Incomparable? Thou in dreams wast laid, <br>Where petals, rose and white, <br>Above thy head a pale pavilion made; <br>Where at unscalèd height <br>The moon lay anchored in the heaving sky, <br>And clouds went surging by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then came the gods unknown!-- <br>The plundering gods--to take thee unawares, <br>While thou wast sleeping, thrown <br>Upon the sacred mountain that is theirs. <br>In vain sad flowers had blown <br>A gale of petals o'er thee, on they came <br>In a still sheet of flame!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They knew that those who dare <br>To sleep one night beside Parnassus' streams <br>The poet's crown must wear-- <br>Must lip the chalice of immortal dreams, <br>And breathe the eternal air; <br>Who, even unto trembling Ossa's hill, <br>May walk the mount at will!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They killed thy happiness, <br>And strangled all thy youth, with hands profane, <br>They brake Love's rosaries, <br>Tossing thy ravaged soul amid the slain, <br>While thou wast weaponless; <br>And left thee gibbeted 'twixt pain and peace, <br>Forbidding thy release.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then they augustly laid <br>Their crippled gifts beside thee, and withdrew <br>Into high Pelion's shade; <br>Their tireless feet made fall no bead of dew, <br>Their passing bent no blade, <br>Though thunder muttered round each mighty plume, <br>And crumbled into gloom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They laid a fatal spell <br>Of beauty on thine eyes, that made most fair <br>The rose unpluckable; <br>They bade thee thirst, yet find no Cup to bear <br>Water from any well; <br>They mocked thee with a vision passionate, <br>And a soul celibate!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O friend, what thou hast known <br>Thou givest me; what thou hast suffered, thou <br>Wouldst calmly bear alone; <br>Forbidding thorns to gather on my brow,-- <br>Accustomed on thine own; <br>Thou lingerest at my side, to show and spare <br>The pitfall and the snare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For thou wouldst give to me <br>The poet's pillow, who has suffered not <br>The poet's penalty; <br>A goodly heritage, a happy lot <br>Wouldst have my portion be. <br>With honey from the rod art fain to feed, <br>Not from the galled reed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou hast some rare reward! <br>The reed that gods have guided, in thine hand <br>Becomes a dreadful sword; <br>Their fingers on thy heartstrings still demand <br>A loud, triumphant chord: <br>They pass the ditch-delivered poets by, <br>With wide contemptuous eye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Poet: I take thy cup: <br>But, from my coloured wreath of morning flowers <br>Where bees wild honey sup, <br>Upon thy sepulchre of buried hours <br>Am fain to offer up <br>Some bud, that spills upon thy brow anew <br>Its fragile shell of dew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if at last I choose <br>To make my pillow on some slope forlorn, <br>And, in that slumber, lose <br>My morning wreath, that must be tossed and torn <br>To feed the jealous Muse, <br>Remember the poor gifts that I resign . . . <br>I shall remember thine!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Muriel+Stuart">Muriel Stuart</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=464748" data-title="To a Poet, Charles Bridges de Muriel Stuart" data-description="THOU singest, thou, me seems, 
Coming from high Parnassus; where thy head 
Beside the silent streams, 
Among fast-fading blooms, hath fashioned 
A pillow of pale dreams; 
While from thee, sleeping, gods, of heart and soul, 
Have taken fullest toll..."></div>
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