SO sat the muses on the banks of Thames, And pleas'd to sing our heavenly Spenser's wit, Inspiring almost trees with pow'rful flames, As Cælia when she sings what I have writ: Methinks there is a spirit more divine, An elegance more rare when ought is sung By her sweet voice, in every verse of mine, Than I conceive by any other tongue: So a musician sets what some one plays With better relish, sweeter stroke, than he That first compos'd; nay, oft the maker weighs If what he hears, his own, or other's be. Such are my lines: the highest, best of choice, Become more gracious by her sweetest voice. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A WINTER TWILIGHT by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE LAMENT OF THE FRONTIER GUARD by LI PO ON THE SLAIN COLLEGIANS by HERMAN MELVILLE REPRESSION OF WAR EXPERIENCE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON SONNET: 3 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE by LAVINIA STONE STODDARD THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN by HENRY VAN DYKE |