BE pleas'd, great Lord, when underneath the shades Of your delightful Bramshill, where the spring Her flowers for gentle blasts with Zephyr trades, Once more to hear a silly shepherd sing. Yours be the pleasure, mine the sonneting: Ev'n that hath his delight; nor shall I need To seek applause amongst the common store. It is enough if this mine oaten reed Please but the ear it should; I ask no more: Nor shall those rural notes which heretofore Your true attention grac'd and wing'd for fame Imperfect lie; oblivion shall not gain Ought on your worth, but sung shall be your name So long as England yields or song or swain. Free are my lines, though dress'd in lowly state, And scorn to flatter but the men I hate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN HONOR OF TAFFY TOPAZ by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY SONNET: 33 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE BEAUREGARD by CATHERINE ANNE WARFIELD OUR SOLDIERS' SANTIAGO SONG by DAVID GRAHAM ADEE PESSIMIST AND OPTIMIST by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |