Or lookt I back unto the Times hence flown, To praise those Muses, and dislike our own? Or did I walk those Pean-Gardens through, To kick the Flow'rs, and scorn their odours too? I might (and justly) be reputed (here) One nicely mad, or peevishly severe. But by Apollo! as I worship wit, (Where I have cause to burn perfumes to it:) So, I confesse, 'tis somwhat to do well In our high art, although we can't excell, Like thee; or dare the Buskins to unloose Of thy brave, bold, and sweet Maronian Muse. But since I'm cal'd (rare Denham) to be gone, Take from thy Herrick this conclusion: 'Tis dignity in others, if they be Crown'd Poets; yet live Princes under thee: The while their wreaths and Purple Robes do shine, Lesse by their own jemms, then those beams of thine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DAY DREAM by EMILY JANE BRONTE ONCE BEFORE by MARY ELIZABETH MAPES DODGE WINDY NIGHTS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON ROUNDEL by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS NIGHT BY THE RIVER by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II IN AN OLD CEMETERY by LILLAH A. ASHLEY SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 29. CHRIST AND ENGLAND by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |