Poem by Henry Austin Dobson

More Poets Yet!

'More Poets yet!'-I hear him say,
Arming his heavy hand to slay;-
'Despite my skill and 'swashing blow,'
They seem to sprout where'er I go;-
I killed a host but yesterday!'

Slash on, O Hercules! You may.
Your task's, at best, a Hydra-fray;
And though you cut, not less will grow
More Poets yet!

Too arrogant! For who shall stay
The first blind motions of the May?
Who shall out-blot the morning glow?-
Or stem the full heart's overflow?
Who? There will rise, till Time decay,
More Poets yet! 

1. On the Future of Poetry
2. When Burbadge Played
3. The Forgotten Grave
4. Incognita
5. O Fons Bandusae

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