DID not my Muse (what can she less?) Perceive her own unworthiness, Could she by some well-chosen theme But hope to merit your esteem, She would not thus conceal her lays, Ambitious to deserve your praise. But should my Delia take offence, And frown on her impertinence, In silence, sorrowing and forlorn, Would the despairing trifler mourn, Curse her ill-tuned, unpleasing lute, Then sigh and sit for ever mute. In secret therefore let her play, Squandering her idle notes away In secret as she chants along, Cheerful and careless in her song; Nor heeds she whether harsh or clear, Free from each terror, every fear, From that, of all most dreaded, free, The terror of offending Thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WHITE WOMEN by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE BARNEY'S INVITATION by PHILIP FRENEAU PHILOMELA: PHILOMELA'S ODE [THAT SHE SANG IN HER ARBOR] by ROBERT GREENE SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT: AUTUMN by THOMAS NASHE UNSEASONABLE SNOWS by ALFRED AUSTIN CYNTHIA SLEEPING IN A GARDEN; A SONNET by PHILIP AYRES LINES WRITTEN IN LADY'S ALBUM OF DIFFERENT-COLOURED PAPER by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |