The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness Bewray itself in my long settled eyes, Whence these same fumes of melancholy rise With idle pains, and missing aim, do guess. Some, that know how my spring I did address, Deem that my muse some fruit of knowledge plies; Others, because the prince my service tries, Think that I think state errors to redress. But harder judges judge ambition's rage, Scourge of itself, still climbing slippery place, Holds my young brain captived in golden cage. O fools, or over-wise: alas, the race Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OLNEY HYMNS: 9. THE CONTRITE HEART by WILLIAM COWPER THE HILL WIFE: THE OFT-REPEATED DREAM by ROBERT FROST IMITATIONS OF HORACE: ODE IV, 1 by ALEXANDER POPE A WINTER PIECE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AT THE FIRESIDE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS GRANDMOTHER'S TEACHING by ALFRED AUSTIN URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: DEDICATION TO LADY PENELOPE DYNHAM by WILLIAM BASSE |