Whene'er the muse pleases to grace my dull page, At the sight of reward , she flies off in a rage; Prayers, threats, and entreaties I frequently try, But she leaves me to scribble, to fret, and to sigh. She torments me each moment, and bids me go write. And when I obey her, she laughs at the sight; The rhyme will not jingle, the verse has no sense, And against all her insults I have no defence. I advise all my friends, who wish me to write, To keep their rewards and their praises from sight; So that jealous Miss Muse won't be wounded in pride, Nor Pegasus rear, till I've taken my ride. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF FIONNUALA by THOMAS MOORE SONNET: 102 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE HIGH-PRIEST TO ALEXANDER by ALFRED TENNYSON RUMORS FROM AN AEOLIAN HARP by HENRY DAVID THOREAU BROTHER BENEDICT by ALFRED AUSTIN STANZAS, ON THE DEATH OF LIEUT. P. by BERNARD BARTON |