Prometheus stole from Heaven the sacred fire <br />And swept to earth with it o'er land and sea. <br />He lit the vestal flames of poesy, <br />Content, for this, to brave celestial ire. <br /> <br />Wroth were the gods, and with eternal hate <br />Pursued the fearless one who ravished Heaven <br />That earth might hold in fee the perfect leaven <br />To lift men's souls above their low estate. <br /> <br />But judge you now, when poets wield the pen, <br />Think you not well the wrong has been repaired? <br />'Twas all in vain that ill Prometheus fared: <br />The fire has been returned to Heaven again! <br /> <br />We have no singers like the ones whose note <br />Gave challenge to the noblest warbler's song. <br />We have no voice so mellow, sweet, and strong <br />As that which broke from Shelley's golden throat. <br /> <br />The measure of our songs is our desires: <br />We tinkle where old poets used to storm. <br />We lack their substance tho' we keep their form: <br />We strum our banjo-strings and call them lyres.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prometheus-6/
