Who would not be a poet, when The girl he loves is sweet and kind, And fancies burn and tickle; When both his Love and Muse are true, And neither one is fickle? And if there is but one that's true, To smile or prattle, kiss or sing, He will not scorn the other; But take a joy that's half complete, As poet, or as lover. But when the both of them are false, His sweetheart turned contrary, And Thought still sulks from Word Who'll praise him for his peevish chirps? Who wants that moulting bird? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THOMAS MOORE (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES by JOHN KEATS TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE SECOND DAY: LADY WENTWORTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 37. NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |