Sir, My childish Muse is in her Spring; and yet Can onely shew some budding of her Wit. One frowne upon her Worke (learn'd Sir) from you; Like some unkinder storme shot from your brow, Would turne her Spring to withering Autumne's time: And make her Blossomes perish, ere their Prime; But if you Smile, if your gracious Eye Shee an auspicious Alpha can descrie: How soone will they grow Fruit? How will they flourish That had such beames their Infancie to nourish. Which being sprung to ripenesse, expect then The best, and first fruites, of her gratefull Pen. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS by GEORGE AUGUSTUS BAKER JR. TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL by FRANCIS BRET HARTE SONNET: 29 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE TRUANTS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM VERSES IN A WATCH by WILLIAM CZAR BRADLEY |