'Tis thought, it seems, a pretty thing, In rhyme to write, in song to breathe; To climb Parnassus' height and bring, To beauty's shrine poetic wreath. Lady, the rhyme is all I boast; The muse has ne'er inspired my heart; Dull prose, its strength and beauty lost, In form of verse, my humble part. And yet the soul aspires to raise A worthy note -- of love divine, Of hope, of friendship's balmy days, Of -- charms of mind and heart -- like thine. A strain to virtue: Born on high, Our thoughts, affections, hopes, above It raises. Who its praise deny? Yet who are constant in its love? Lady, adieu! If war again Should shake "the border," and destruction, With fiery, fierce and gloomy train Assail us, this is thy protection. Present it, and the ruthless hand That dares to rise against thee, down I'll strike it; this the charm -- the wand Thy sex to guard, the fair to crown. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HEART'S FIRST WORD (2) by ISAAC ROSENBERG WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT? by WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS THE BIRD WITH THE COPPERY, KEEN CLAWS by WALLACE STEVENS QUATRAIN: SPENDTHRIFT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH VERSES TO RHYME WITH 'ROSE' (2) by JANE AUSTEN LINES ON THE DEATH OF PHILIP MEADOWS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE ADIEU; WRITTEN .. THE IMPRESSION AUTHOR WOULD SOON DIE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |