Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside! O, blame me not, if I no more can write! Look in your glass, and there appears a face That over-goes my blunt invention quite, Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace. Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, To mar the subject that before was well? For to no other pass my verses tend Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; And more, much more, than in my verse can sit Your own glass shows you when you look in it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOHENGRIN; PROEM by EMMA LAZARUS SUNDAY NIGHT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE LITTLE VAGABOND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BAY FIGHT by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL OVERNIGHT, A ROSE by CAROLINE GILTINAN AIRLY BEACON by CHARLES KINGSLEY |