windblown
10-01-2008, 07:47 AM
How like a route march has this Shakespeare been
For them, bright students of the final year!
What anguish have they felt, what hurdles seen!
What deserts, mountains, thickets everywhere!
And yet this poet's verse is like the spring,
So rich in marvels for the daring mind;
Brimming with flowers, their sweetness staggering;
Like dewdrops fresh. Such freshness could they find.
Yet that spring's sparkling clearness seems to some
But toil and trouble, muddy-watered bog;
For Shakespeare and his pleasures only come
To those that clear their hearts and minds from fog;
Or, if some mist abides, 'tis but a veil
That mystifies, but mars not beauty's trail.
For them, bright students of the final year!
What anguish have they felt, what hurdles seen!
What deserts, mountains, thickets everywhere!
And yet this poet's verse is like the spring,
So rich in marvels for the daring mind;
Brimming with flowers, their sweetness staggering;
Like dewdrops fresh. Such freshness could they find.
Yet that spring's sparkling clearness seems to some
But toil and trouble, muddy-watered bog;
For Shakespeare and his pleasures only come
To those that clear their hearts and minds from fog;
Or, if some mist abides, 'tis but a veil
That mystifies, but mars not beauty's trail.