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. For a Copy of Theocritus
2. When Burbadge Played
3. Incognita
4. When This Old World Was New
5. The Passionate Printer to His Love

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