Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame; Who seek, who hope, who love, who live, but thee: Thine eyes my pride, thy lips my history; If thou praise not, all other praise is shame. Nor so ambitious am I, as to frame A nest for my young praise in laurel tree; In truth I swear, I wish not there should be Graved in mine epitaph a poet's name: Ne if I would, could I just title make, That any laudº to me thereof should grow, Without my plumes from others' wings I take. For nothing from my wit or will doth flow, Since all my words thy beauty doth endite, And love doth hold my hand, and makes me write. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PETER STUYVESANT'S NEW YEAR'S CALL, 1 JAN. 1661 by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN PSALM 51 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 103. WRITTEN AT FLORENCE: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE CROSSING AT FREDERICKSBURG by GEORGE HENRY BOKER A LITTLE SONG by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE OCTOBER, 1866 by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |