Clipping Pegasus's Wings

No matter what they may do, 
No matter how hard they try,
They cannot make a true heart untrue;
They cannot kill what was meant to fly.

No matter that they wail and lament,
No matter that they cry unnumbered tears,
They cannot destroy the heaven-sent;
They cannot make hateful the flight of years.

No matter that they look and sigh,
No matter that they point out the dead,
They cannot make Pegasus refuse to fly;
They cannot make Apollo bow his head.

No matter that they complain and fear it,
No matter that they try impossible things,
They cannot dim the flare of poetic spirit;
They cannot succeed in clipping Pegasus's wings.

No matter that they grimace with looks black,
No matter that they say all good is gone,
They cannot make the future forever look back;
They cannot make Pegasus vanish from Helicon.

Still Pegasus rears on the poets' mountain,
Dancing in his glory Medusa-born,
And still poets will drink from his hoof-born fountain,
And sing of the rose as well as the thorn.