What is a modern poet's fate? To write his thoughts upon a slate; The critic spits on what is done, Gives it a wipeand all isgone.
And they are gone: aye, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm.
If to be absent were to be Away from thee; Or that when I am gone, You or I were alone; Then my Lucasta might I crave Pity from blust'ring wind, or swallowing wave.
But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves, With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes mourn.
Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and for ever!
They're all gone now, and there isn't anything more the sea can do to me.
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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