O LOVE, who in my breast's most noble part, Didst that fair Image lodge, that Form Divine, In whom the sum of Heavenly Graces shine, And there ingrav'dst it with thy golden dart. Now, mighty Workman! Help me by thy art, (Since my dull pen trembles to strike a line) That I on paper copy the design, By thee express'd so lively in my heart. Lend me, when I this great attempt do try, A feather from thy wings, that whilst to write, My hand's employ'd, my thoughts may soar on high; Thy Torch, which fires our hearts and burns so bright, My darker fancy let its flame supply, And through my numbers dart celestial light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIRDS OF VIETNAM by HAYDEN CARRUTH MODULATIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO EMILIE BIGELOW HAPGOOD - PHILANTHROPIST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 14 by JAMES JOYCE MONADNOCK IN EARLY SPRING by AMY LOWELL THE STORM by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |