HE IS NOT A POET <br />I would not, if I could, be called a poet. <br />I have no natural love of the ``chaste muse.'' <br />If aught be worth the doing I would do it; <br />And others, if they will, may tell the news. <br />I care not for their laurels but would choose <br />On the world's field to fight or fall or run. <br />My soul's ambition will not take excuse <br />To play the dial rather than the sun. <br />The faith I held I hold, as when a boy <br />I left my books for cricket--bat and gun. <br />The tales of poets are but scholars' themes. <br />In my hot youth I held it that a man <br />With heart to dare and stomach to enjoy <br />Had better work to his hand in any plan <br />Of any folly, so the thing were done, <br />Than in the noblest dreaming of mere dreams.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-iv-vita-nova-xcv/
