Your words, my friend, right healthful caustics, blame My young mind marred, whom love doth windlass so That mine own writings like bad servants show, My wits, quick in vain thoughts, in virtue lame; That Plato I read for nought, but if he tame Such coltish gyres; that to my birth I owe Nobler desires, lest else that friendly foe, Great expectation, wear a train of shame. For since mad March great promise made of me, If now the May of my years much decline, What can be hoped my harvest time will be? Sure you say well; your wisdom's golden mine Dig deep with learning's spade; now tell me this, Hath this world aught so fair as Stella is? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RONDEL by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE BANISHED LOVER by ABD AL-RAHMAN AL-MUSTAZHIR THE ENEMY by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE PSALM 19. THE FIRST SIX VERSES by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE CONGREGATION by GAMALIEL BRADFORD THE CHIMES OF [OLD] ENGLAND by ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD: 8. THE FIRESIDE by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH THE LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMY, FOR MOST PART ACCORDING TO TREMELIUS: 4 by JOHN DONNE |