Poets may boast (as safely vain) Their work shall with the world remain Both bound together, live, or dye, The Verses and the Prophecy. But who can hope his lines should long Last in a daily changing Tongue? While they are new, envy prevails, And as that dies, our language fails; When Architects have done their part The Matter may betray their Art, Time, if we use ill-chosen stone, Soon brings a well-built Palace down. Poets that lasting Marble seek Must carve in Latine or in Greek, We write in Sand, our Language grows, And like the Tide our work o'erflows. Chaucer his Sense can only boast, The glory of his numbers lost, Years have defac'd his matchless strain, And yet he did not sing in vain; The Beauties which adorn'd that age The shining Subjects of his rage, Hoping they should immortal prove Rewarded with success his love. This was the generous Poets scope And all an English Pen can hope, To make the fair approve his Flame That can so far extend their Fame. Verse thus design'd has no ill fate If it arrive but at the Date Of fading Beauty, if it prove But as long liv'd as present love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POOR POLL by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES UP IN THE MORNING EARLY by ROBERT BURNS EPISTLE TO MR. MURRAY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY by GEORGE DARLEY ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKESPEARE by BEN JONSON |