Sunday, April 14, 2013
Why Cringe and Bow?
Are there no caverns in the mountains left?
Are all the forest boughs of leaves bereft
And mellowing fruit? are the wild cataracts still
On every lonely hill?
Why haunt the servile press? or cringe and bow
To win the nod of some majestic brow
That wears for honor the low insolence
Of wealth—how got and whence?