IDLE the churlish leagues 'twixt you and me, Singer most rich in charm, most rich in grace! What though I cannot see you face to face? Allow my boast, that one in blood are we! One by that secret consanguinity Which binds the children of melodious race, And knows not the crude accident of place, And cold interposition of the sea. You are my noble kinsman in the lyre: Forgive the kinsman's freedom that I use, Adventuring these imperfect thanks, who late, Singing a people's woe, in wonder and ire, -- Against me half the wise and all the great, -- Sang not alone, for with me was your muse. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODES I, 9. TO WINTER by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS CAMPS OF GREEN by WALT WHITMAN MONODY ON THE ASTOR HOUSE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE POWER OF WOMEN by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS TO A PRIMROSE by EDNA S. CODDINGTON THE TRAGICAL HISTORIE OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE by ABRAHAM COWLEY |