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Poem by Richard Doddridge Blackmore


To My Pen


I

Thou feeble implement of mind,
Wherewith she strove to scrawl her
name;
But, like a mitcher, left behind
No signature, no stroke, no claim,
No hint that she hath pined

Shall ever come a stronger time,
When thou shalt be a tool of skill,
And steadfast purpose, to fulfil
A higher task than rhyme?

II

Thou puny instrument of soul,
Wherewith she labours to impart
Her efforts at some arduous goal;
But fails to bring thy coarser art
Beneath a fine control

Shall ever come a fairer day,
When thou shalt be a buoyant plume,
To soar, where clearer suns illume,
And fresher breezes play? 



Richard Doddridge Blackmore


Richard Doddridge Blackmore's other poems:
  1. Dominus Illuminatio Mea
  2. The Well of Saint John
  3. Kadisha; Or, The First Jealousy
  4. To Fame
  5. Mount Arafa


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