Into these loves who but for passion looks, At this first sight here let him lay them by And seek elsewhere, in turning other books, Which better may his labor satisfy. No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my breast, Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring. Nor in 'Ah me's' my whining sonnets dressed, A libertine, fantastically I sing. My verse is the true image of my mind, Ever in motion, still desiring change; And as thus to variety inclined, So in all humors sportively I range: My muse is rightly of the English strain, That cannot long one fashion entertain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SLAVE TRADE: VIEW FROM THE MIDDLE PASSAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR JOHN BROWN by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT WORDLY WISE (5) by MOTHER GOOSE LAMENT OF THE MASTER ERSKINE by ALEXANDER SCOTT (1520-1590) THE MIST AND ALL by DIXIE WILLSON THE NUANCES OF MENDACITY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |