Let dainty wits cry on the sisters nine, That bravely masked, their fancies may be told: Or Pindar's apes, flaunt they in phrases fine, Enam'lling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold: Or else let them in statelier glory shine, Ennobling new-found tropes with problems old: Or with strange similes enrich each line, Of herbs or beasts, which Ind or Afric hold. For me, in sooth, no muse but one I know; Phrases and problems from my reach do grow, And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites. How then? Even thus: in Stella's face I read What love and beauty be; then all my deed But copying is, what in her nature writes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON MY JOYFUL DEPARTURE FROM THE CITY OF COLOGNE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE NEED OF BEING VERSED IN COUNTRY THINGS by ROBERT FROST ON LENDING A PUNCH BOWL by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE LONELY CHILD by JAMES OPPENHEIM THE LAST SUPPER by RAINER MARIA RILKE A YOUTH TO HIS FATHER by WALTER R. ADAMS TO THE SHAH (1) by AWHAD AD-DIN 'ALI IBN VAHID MUHAMMAD KHAVARANI |