<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472596" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Poet’s Lot</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">WHAT is a poet's love?--<br>To write a girl a sonnet,<br>To get a ring, or some such thing,<br>And fustianize upon it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What is a poet's fame?--<br>Sad hints about his reason,<br>And sadder praise from garreteers,<br>To be returned in season.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where go the poet's lines?--<br>Answer, ye evening tapers!<br>Ye auburn locks, ye golden curls,<br>Speak from your folded papers!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Child of the ploughshare, smile;<br>Boy of the counter, grieve not,<br>Though muses round thy trundle-bed<br>Their broidered tissue weave not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The poet's future holds<br>No civic wreath above him;<br>Nor slated roof, nor varnished chaise,<br>Nor wife nor child to love him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Maid of the village inn,<br>Who workest woe on satin,<br>(The grass in black, the graves in green,<br>The epitaph in Latin,)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Trust not to them who say,<br>In stanzas, they adore thee;<br>Oh rather sleep in churchyard clay,<br>With urn and cherub o'er thee!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=472596" data-title="The Poet’s Lot de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="WHAT is a poet's love?-- To write a girl a sonnet, To get a ring, or some such thing, And fustianize upon it. What is a poet's fame?-- Sad hints about his reason, And sadder praise from garreteers, To be returned in season. Where go the poet's l..."></div> </div> </div>

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