Muses, I oft invoked your holy aid, With choicest flowers my speech to engarland so That it, despised in true but naked show, Might win some grace in your sweet skill arrayed; And oft whole troops of saddest words I stayed, Striving abroad a-foraging to go, Until by your inspiring I might know How their black banner might be best displayed. But now I mean no more your help to try, Nor other sugaring of my speech to prove, But on her name incessantly to cry: For let me but name her, whom I do love, So sweet sounds straight mine ear and heart do hit That I well find no eloquence like it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON MY FIRST DAUGHTER by BEN JONSON THE WEST WIND by JOHN MASEFIELD WHEN LET BY RAIN by EDWARD TAYLOR THE MAY QUEEN by ALFRED TENNYSON MAUD MULLER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER VORTICIST POEM ON LOVE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |