More Poets Yet!

"More Poets yet!"--I hear him say,
Arming his heavy hand to slay;--
"Despite my skill and 'swashing blow,"
They seem to sprout where'er I go;--
I killed a host but yesterday!"

Slash on, O Hercules! You may.
Your task's, at best, a Hydra-fray;
And though you cut, not less will grow
More Poets yet!

Too arrogant! For who shall stay
The first blind motions of the May?
Who shall out-blot the morning glow?--
Or stem the full heart's overflow?
Who? There will rise, till Time decay,
More Poets yet!