Let 'em Censure; what care I? The Herd of Criticks I defie. Let the Wretches know, I write Regardless of their Grace, or Spight. No, no: the Fair, the Gay, the Young Govern the Numbers of my Song. All that They approve is sweet: And All is Sense, that They repeat. Bid the warbling Nine retire: Venus, String thy Servant's Lyre: Love shall be my endless Theme: Pleasure shall triumph over Fame: And when these Maxims I decline, Apollo, may Thy Fate be Mine: May I grasp at empty Praise; And lose the Nymph, to gain the Bays. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TERMINUS (1) by RALPH WALDO EMERSON ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD, 1770 by PHILLIS WHEATLEY NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 22 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT NIAGARA by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE NOT UNDERSTOOD by THOMAS BRACKEN SOUND IN SILENCE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON OLD PONE by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER THE SALLE MONTESQUIEU; A PARISIAN REMINISCENCE by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |