SCORN not the sonnet; critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honors; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound; A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound; With it Camoens soothed an exile's grief; The sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned His visionary brow a glow-worm lamp, It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faeryland To struggle through dark ways; and when a damp Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet; whence he blew Soul-animating strains, -- alas! too few. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF THE STYGIAN NAIADES by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES TO FLUSH, MY DOG by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WILD GAZELLE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON EVENING (1) by EMILY DICKINSON THE BOOK [OF THE WORLD] by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN THE WASHERS OF THE SHROUD; OCTOBER, 1861 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL |