WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones, The labor of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument. For whilst to the shame of slow-endeavoring art Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble with too much conceiving; And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CINQUAIN: THE WARNING by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY THE OLD CHURCHYARD OF BONCHURCH by PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON LETTY'S GLOBE by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER RIDE NOT TOO FAST WITH BEAUTY by ELSIE TWINING ABBOTT MARY MAGDALEN by BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA CALAIS SANDS by MATTHEW ARNOLD |