O LOVE, who in my breast's most noble part, Didst that fair Image lodge, that Form Divine, In whom the sum of Heavenly Graces shine, And there ingrav'dst it with thy golden dart. Now, mighty Workman! Help me by thy art, (Since my dull pen trembles to strike a line) That I on paper copy the design, By thee express'd so lively in my heart. Lend me, when I this great attempt do try, A feather from thy wings, that whilst to write, My hand's employ'd, my thoughts may soar on high; Thy Torch, which fires our hearts and burns so bright, My darker fancy let its flame supply, And through my numbers dart celestial light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ISADORA DUNCAN DANCING 'IPHIGENIA IN AULIS' by LOUIS UNTERMEYER SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND by THOMAS CAMPBELL TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY; AN ALLEGORY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TWO AT A FIRESIDE by EDWIN MARKHAM IDYLLS OF THE KING: PELLEAS AND ETTARRE by ALFRED TENNYSON THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG [JULY 3, 1863] by WILL HENRY THOMPSON |