IF I could touch with Petrarch's pen this strain Of graver song, and shape to liquid flow Of soft Ita ian syllables the glow That warms my heart, my tribute were not vain: But how shall I such measured sweetness gain As may your golden nature fitly show, And with the heart-light shine, that fills you so, It pales the graces of the cultured brain? Long have I known, Love better is than Fame, And Love hath crowned you: yet if any bay Cling to my chaplet when the years have fled, And I am dust, may this which bears your name Cling latest, that my love's result shall stay When that which mine ambition wrought is dead! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CEMETERY BY THE SEA by PAUL VALERY LAUS INFANTIUM by WILLIAM CANTON INGRATEFUL [OR UNGRATEFUL] BEAUTY THREATENED by THOMAS CAREW THE POET AND THE BABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ON A CURATE'S COMPLAINT OF HARD DUTY by JONATHAN SWIFT AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS; SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |