THEY mock my toil--the nymphs and amorous swains-- "And whence this fond attempt to write," they cry, "Love-songs in language that thou little knowest? "How darest thou risk to sing these foreign strains? "Say truly,--findest not oft thy purpose crossed, "And that thy fairest flowers here fade and die?" Then, with pretence of admiration high-- "Thee other shores expect, and other tides; "Rivers, on whose grassy sides "Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind "Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides; "Why then this burthen, better far declined?" Speak, Muse! for me.--The fair one said, who guides My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, "This is the language in which Love delights." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TURNSTILE by WILLIAM BARNES ON WORDSWORTH by DAVID HARTLEY COLERIDGE AIRLY BEACON by CHARLES KINGSLEY OUT OF THE SHADOW by MARGARET FAIRLESS BARBER THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH; LAST POEM, ROME, MAY, 1861 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING WHAT CONSTITUTES A 'TEAM' IN VERMONT by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 11. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE SEVENTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |