How's a man to write a sonnet, can you tell, -- How's he going to weave the dim, poetic spell, -- When a-toddling on the floor Is the muse he must adore, And this muse he loves, not wisely, but too well? Now, to write a sonnet, every one allows, One must always be as quiet as a mouse; But to write one seems to me Quite superfluous to be, When you've got a little sonnet in the house. Just a dainty little poem, true and fine, That is full of love and life in every line, Earnest, delicate, and sweet, Altogether so complete That I wonder what 's the use of writing mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHAT AILS THIS HEART O'MINE? by SUSANNA BLAMIRE ON THE DEATH OF MR. WILLIAM HERVEY by ABRAHAM COWLEY RELIGION by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR OBERON'S FEAST by ROBERT HERRICK HARRY PLOUGHMAN by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS |