Reader; MR. Author vow'd to prattle forth his Loves, And fill the azure skies with wat'ry clouds: My author vow'd to dwell in shady groves, And paint his fortune in Diana's shrouds. For the best artist that the world admires, Was but the artist of his own desires. You must not then expect a curious strain, That best befits the quaintness of his story. No, that's a shadow for a riper brain, Let them report it, that have had the glory. The gilded tresses of the clearest shining, Have neither force in rising nor declining. Then take the branches of his tender vine, Which here you have presented, though he fears You'll draw his meaning by too strict a line, For yet he ne'er attained to thrice seven years. Yet let me pass, and ere his day sees night, His hawk may please you with a fairer flight. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR G. by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON A COAT by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SONNET: 17 by RICHARD BARNFIELD QUATORZAINS: 1. TO PERFUME by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE HINDOO'S DEATH by GEORGE BIRDSEYE THE DISAPPOINTED TENDERFOOT by EARL ALONZO BRININSTOOL ON CHRISTMAS EVE by ZOE KINCAID BROCKMAN |