GRAVE Muses, march in triumph and with prayses; Our Goddesse here hath given you leave to land, And biddes this rare dispenser of your graces Bow downe his brow unto her sacred hand. Desertes findes dew in that most princely doome, In whose sweete brest are all the Muses bredde: So did that great Augustus erst in Roome With leaves of fame adorne his poets hedde. Faire be the guerdon of your Faery Queene, Even of the fairest that the world hath seene. H.B. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MAD WOMAN'S SONG by KAREN SWENSON MY LADY'S TEARS by JOHN DOWLAND LOVE AND SLEEP by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE FAR - FAR - AWAY (FOR MUSIC) by ALFRED TENNYSON TO THE MOCKINGBIRD by RICHARD HENRY WILDE YARROW UNVISITED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |