We poets are made of silver...

We poets are made of silver. Silver of the moon,
And gems of great worth; brought from the depths of earth,
To adorn our golden collars, and our long stately limbs.

Not out of cold clay were we made, nor cast in common mould -
Let the earth keep its silence; we will still hear it sing
And praise and eulogise us, just as we praise and eulogise it.

Nor out of bronze nor iron were we made; for not in wrath
Were the Gods when they wrought us, not as vessels of wrath were we made;
To some they poured fury, but to us only the song that can not be sung.

Nor out of gold fashioned, and neither with diamonds studded,
For what could we hope to do, who are less than butterflies,
Or songbirds and dragonflies? To lie, and hope it endured time.

No, for we were the intricacies of silver, whose eternal love-song
Is a breath over water; who were tailored with much love,
To verse, for wit and fury, and hope that wit and fury endure.