College: An Ode Poem by Shouvik Narayan Hore

'Tis been long years at college; I see
Where aspirations higher be,
Here art its own art fine demeans,
Does knowledge at her misuse kneel
In shame; For it imbibes fall'cy,
When pluckest should I from Adam's tree,
I net a distasteful stale fish,
And leave behind my soul's sole wish
To perch the highest bough they sought,
Instead were skilled merriments taught,
Where untrue compliments reign well,
One smart cat her company bell,
Where truth travels through labyrinths,
Where falsity dines with her kins,
I do know little to sum that up,
Then drink (large) potions from Lethe's cup.

Oft have I travelled to Keats' Greece,
Breathed the freshness of Aegean breeze,
Or mourned beside his 'well-wrought urn',
Waited until his woe were done.
Visit'd Isabella's chamber,
When thou were lost in thy slumber,
When loud thee sang to Nightingales,
Thy voice echoed from every vale,
Sweeter melodies of minstrels,
Much sweeter than the alarm bells,
Allows gentle Hellas to depart,
Leave behind joys of rustic cart,
That rocks past slow the autumn dales,
Midst Styx and her flowery cascades,
Midst all in Poesy's gardens bloom,
Now must I survive all the gloom
Of caverns governed by more than One,
Vicious foes of immortal Sun.
"Figments of i-ma-gi-na-tion
Art these; Nothing more than fiction,
What real is Keats never did think,
His life disappear'd in a blink!
His verse is but tribute- like pity,
As swain heads lost in a vast built city,
Yet think him once for 'Fanny' Ode,
Indolence his well sought abode.
Eulog's to modern trendy verse,
All left past are all fit for curse,
Emotions in Iambus told,
Are objects to be scorned and scold."
The newer youths find no rhythm,
Or when cultured feelings do come,
They spring out free and make it worse,
And then argue, "The world is terse."
"Lyric restricts our 'creative' minds,
Poetry must have various kinds! "
("But Ours", they say, "Is defin'te best,
Then lyric on a swollen chest.")

Such they say, and such do I quote,
I declare to distinguish my boat,
Stand tower-tall, change their views,
Instill lost truths in their sinews,
Restore what great men had foretell,
Would Poetry begin her new spell?