NOT that the gift, great Lord, deserves your hand, Held ever worth the rarest works of men, Offer I this; but since in all our land None can more rightly claim a poet's pen: That noble blood and virtue truly known, Which circular in you united run, Makes you each good, and every good your own, If it can hold in what my Muse hath done. But weak and lowly are these tuned lays, Yet though but weak to win fair Memory, You may improve them, and your gracing raise; For things are priz'd as their possessors be. If for such favour they have worthless striven, Since love the cause was, be that love forgiven! Your Honour W. BROWNE. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PAST AND PRESENT by ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON A GIRL'S GARDEN by ROBERT FROST A CANADIAN BOAT SONG; WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE by THOMAS MOORE TO A BLOCKHEAD by ALEXANDER POPE MUIOPOTMOS, OR THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE by EDMUND SPENSER WHY DRINK WINE by HENRY ALDRICH |