Great wrong I doe, I can it not deny, To that most sacred empresse, my dear dred, Not finishing her Queene of Faery, That mote enlarge her living prayses, dead. But Lod wick, this of grace to me aread: Do ye not thinck th' accomplishment of it Sufficient worke for one mans simple head, All were it, as the rest, but rudely writ? How then should I, without another wit, Thinck ever to endure so taedious toyle, Sins that this one is tost with troublous fit Of a proud love, that doth my spirite spoyle? Cease then, till she vouchsafe to grawnt me rest, Or lend you me another living brest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...QUI S'EXCUSE S'ACCUSE by MARIANNE MOORE THE SHPEHERD'S HOUR by PAUL VERLAINE TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS by ROBERT AYTON SUNSET AND SUNRISE by EMILY DICKINSON THE RAILWAY TRAIN by EMILY DICKINSON DUNS SCOTUS'S OXFORD by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |