MY song I will not sell for gold; Nor fame nor honor'll buy it; I sing it for myself alone, Or praise ye or decry it. No master e'er hath taught the art, Nor have I learned one feature; The music came direct from God, The words were writ by Nature. Full oft the breeze of morning bears A page from distant regions; I marvel when I note the things Which men must learn in legions. If rhyme be faulty, all condemn; And if 't is not quite flawless, One poet's work another blames With judgment far too lawless. A foot's here missing, there a rhyme; Then undue flourish grieves them. Full eagerly they strive and toil Until the turf receives them. My song of solitude I sing, With all its many errors; 'T is for myself and for my God: The critic hath no terrors. Therefore, kind friends, strive not to teach Me learning's strict rules narrow; The nightingale's notes do not ask From throat of northern sparrow. Yet thanks I give for fame and praise, With all their fleeting glitter; From practice as a cook, I know The laurel's leaf is bitter. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RECOMPENSE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ELEGY: THE LITTLE GHOST WHO DIED FOR LOVE; FOR ALLANAH HARPER by EDITH SITWELL LA CONDUCTORA DEL DESEO/CONDUIT by VIRGIL SUAREZ COOPER SQUARE by KAREN SWENSON |