WERE'T not for you, here should my pen have rest And take a long leave of sweet poesy; Britannia's swains, and rivers far by west, Should hear no more mine oaten melody; Yet shall the song I sung of them awhile Unperfect lie, and make no further known The happy loves of this our pleasant Isle; Till I have left some record of mine own. You are the subject now, and, writing you, I well may versify, not poetize: Here needs no fiction: for the graces true And virtues clip not with base flatteries. Here could I write what you deserve of praise, Others might wear, but I should win the bays. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HAUNTED OAK by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE HABIT OF PERFECTION by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE INDIAN'S WELCOME TO THE PILGRIM FATHERS by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY THE SCOTTISH CHRISTMAS by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN GHOST-BEREFT; A SCENE FROM BOGLAND IN WAR-TIME by JANE BARLOW SONNET AGAINST THE DISPRAYSERS OF POETRIE by RICHARD BARNFIELD |