DANTE ALIGHIERI in Becchina's praise Won't have me sing and bears him like my lord. He's but a pinchbeck florin, on my word; Sugar he seems, but salt's in all his ways; He looks like wheaten bread, who's bread of maize; He's but a sty, though like a tower in height; A falcon, till you find that he's a kite; Call him a cock!—a hen's more like his case. Go now to Florence, Sonnet of my own, And there with dames and maids hold pretty parles, And say that all he is doth only seem. And I meanwhile will make him better known Unto the Court of Provence, good King Charles; And in this way we'll singe his skin for him. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO NANCY by ROBERT BURNS SOLILOQUY OF A TURKEY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ODE ON SOLITUDE (FINAL PRINTED VERSION) by ALEXANDER POPE THE COLLAR-BONE OF A HARE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE DIVISION OF POLAND by EDWIN ARNOLD THE LOAN by SABINE BARING-GOULD |