ON these mill'd rags -- a change mysterious! -- I with a goose-quill must rehearse Partly in jest, and partly serious, Some foolish nonsense turn'd to verse. I, who am wont my thoughts to utter Upon thy rosy lips so fair With kisses that like bright flames splutter Up from my bosom's inmost lair! O fashion's rage! If I'm a poet, E'en by my wife I'm plagued at times Until (and other minstrels know it) I in her album scrawl some rhymes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIGHT, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE HE WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE LOVER AND THE BIRDS by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM CIGARS AND BEER by GEORGE ARNOLD THE OLD KIRK YARD by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: MAN'S GUARD AGAINST DEATH by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |