To spring belongs the violet, and the blown Spice of the roses let the summer own. Grant me this favor, Muse -- all else with-hold -- That I may not write verse when I am old. And yet I pray you, Muse, delay the time! Be not too ready to deny me rhyme; And when the hour strikes, as it must, dear Muse, I beg you very gently break the news. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON LORD HOLLAND'S SEAT NEAR MARGATE, KENT by THOMAS GRAY THE IDEA OF BALANCE IS TO BE FOUND IN HERONS AND LOONS by JAMES HARRISON THE ANGELUS; HEARD AT THE MISSION DOLORES IN SAN FRANCISCO, 1868 by FRANCIS BRET HARTE TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME by ROBERT HERRICK LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT by JEAN INGELOW SPECIMEN OF AN INDUCTION TO A POEM by JOHN KEATS THE LAMENT OF THE FLOWERS by JONES VERY SONG FOR ALL SEAS, ALL SHIPS by WALT WHITMAN VERSES WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF TIGHE'S 'PSYCHE' by BERNARD BARTON |