Never my Book's perfection did appeare, Til I had got the name of VILLARS here. Now 'tis so full, that when therein I look, I see a Cloud of Glory fills my Book. Here stand it stil to dignifie our Muse, Your sober Hand-maid; who doth wisely chuse, Your Name to be a Laureat Wreathe to Hir, Who doth both love and feare you Honour'd Sir. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHAT I'VE BELIEVED IN by JAMES GALVIN TO MARY CHURCH TERRELL - LECTURER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHARITAS NIMIA; OR THE DEAR BARGAIN by RICHARD CRASHAW ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 3. TO A FRIEND UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE by MARK AKENSIDE THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. RUSTIC INTERIOR by JOHN ARMSTRONG |