GRAVE Muses, march in triumph and with prayses; Our Goddesse here hath given you leave to land, And biddes this rare dispenser of your graces Bow downe his brow unto her sacred hand. Desertes findes dew in that most princely doome, In whose sweete brest are all the Muses bredde: So did that great Augustus erst in Roome With leaves of fame adorne his poets hedde. Faire be the guerdon of your Faery Queene, Even of the fairest that the world hath seene. H.B. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CITY OF GOD by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1822-1882) ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 2. TO SLEEP by MARK AKENSIDE THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. THE GASTRIC MUSE by JOHN ARMSTRONG SONNET TO CHARLOTTE M-- by BERNARD BARTON THE BLIND LEAD THE BLIND by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN YOUTH'S AMBITION by ANNA GRACE BOYLES FORGETFULNESS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH FO'C'S'LE YARNS: 2D SERIES. DEDICATION by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |