The Poetry Corner

In Vita Minerva

By Oliver Wendell Holmes

Vex not the Muse with idle prayers, - She will not hear thy call; She steals upon thee unawares, Or seeks thee not at all. Soft as the moonbeams when they sought Endymion's fragrant bower, She parts the whispering leaves of thought To show her full-blown flower. For thee her wooing hour has passed, The singing birds have flown, And winter comes with icy blast To chill thy buds unblown. Yet, though the woods no longer thrill As once their arches rung, Sweet echoes hover round thee still Of songs thy summer sung. Live in thy past; await no more The rush of heaven-sent wings; Earth still has music left in store While Memory sighs and sings.