Who would not be a poet, when The girl he loves is sweet and kind, And fancies burn and tickle; When both his Love and Muse are true, And neither one is fickle? And if there is but one that's true, To smile or prattle, kiss or sing, He will not scorn the other; But take a joy that's half complete, As poet, or as lover. But when the both of them are false, His sweetheart turned contrary, And Thought still sulks from Word Who'll praise him for his peevish chirps? Who wants that moulting bird? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PICKING AND CHOOSING by MARIANNE MOORE ON THE DEATH OF DR. ROBERT LEVET, A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) COCK-CROW by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE DEAMON LOVER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A BURIAL-PLACE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |