Sonnet (From Petrarch) Poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper

Sloth, and the sensual mind hath driven away
All virtues from the world: where'er I range
I note on every side a wicked change;
Our steps are now unlit by heavenly ray:
The poet, walking in his crown of bay,
Is pointed at - for scorn; the selfish herds
Of mammon-worshippers insulting say
'Where is the gain in all these metred words?
Your crowns of bay and myrtle are but leaves.'
And so philosophy goes starv'd and lone,
And Vice is glad, while widowed Virtue grieves.
Still be not thou disheartened, generous one,
Follow that path, which entered ne'er deceives,
But leads if not to earth's, to heaven's throne.