MY song I will not sell for gold; Nor fame nor honor'll buy it; I sing it for myself alone, Or praise ye or decry it. No master e'er hath taught the art, Nor have I learned one feature; The music came direct from God, The words were writ by Nature. Full oft the breeze of morning bears A page from distant regions; I marvel when I note the things Which men must learn in legions. If rhyme be faulty, all condemn; And if 't is not quite flawless, One poet's work another blames With judgment far too lawless. A foot's here missing, there a rhyme; Then undue flourish grieves them. Full eagerly they strive and toil Until the turf receives them. My song of solitude I sing, With all its many errors; 'T is for myself and for my God: The critic hath no terrors. Therefore, kind friends, strive not to teach Me learning's strict rules narrow; The nightingale's notes do not ask From throat of northern sparrow. Yet thanks I give for fame and praise, With all their fleeting glitter; From practice as a cook, I know The laurel's leaf is bitter. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WINTER NIGHT SONG by SARA TEASDALE THE DESPONDING SOUL'S WISH by JOHN BYROM THE LONG WHITE SEAM by JEAN INGELOW THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE by AMELIA OPIE VALUES by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE AN ELEGY ON THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF PEMBROKE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |