Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem In gentle numbers time so idly spent; Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem And gives thy pen both skill and argument. Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, If Time have any wrinkle graven there; If any, be a satire to decay, And make Time's spoils despised every where. Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life; So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THRUSH'S NEST by JOHN CLARE ON MONSIEUR'S DEPARTURE by ELIZABETH I NEED OF LOVING by STRICKLAND GILLILAN THE STALLION OF NIGHT by WILLIAM ROSE BENET SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 3 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON CRUSADERS by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: DEDICATION TO EDWARD, LORD ZOUCH by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |