Claude McKay addresses a fellow poet whose work, he believes, will outlast the noise of the moment. There is already something lovely and clear about the poet’s name, and its power will only deepen with time. Yet the speaker is honest about how such art is received: the public will not carry this poet through the streets in celebration, and fashionable “kings” of culture will turn away to praise shallow, artificial voices instead. The mood is bittersweet and defiant, but not despairing. The speaker counts himself among the “rare lonely spirits” who love enduring music, and he promises that they will recognize the beauty and haunting power in the poet’s lines. It is a tribute to lasting vision over passing popularity.
To a Poet — Summary
There is a lovely noise about your name, Above the shoutings of the city clear, More than a moment’s merriment, whose claim Will greater grow with every mellowed year. The people will not bear you down the street, Dancing to the strong rhythm of your words, The modern kings will throttle you to greet The piping voice of artificial birds. But the rare lonely spirits, even mine, Who love the immortal music of all days, Will see the glory of your trailing line, The bedded beauty of your haunting lays.