As other men, so I myself do muse Why in this sort I wrest invention so, And why these giddy metaphors I use, Leaving the path the greater part do go. I will resolve you: I am lunatic, And ever this in madmen you shall find, What they last thought of when the brain grew sick In most distraction they keep that in mind. Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit, Reason and I, you must conceive, are twain; "Tis nine years now since first I lost my wit; Bear with me then, though troubled be my brain. With diet and correction men distraught (Not too far past) may to their wits be brought. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE STREETS by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD by THEODORE O'HARA OF THE LAST VERSES IN THE BOOK by EDMUND WALLER JEWELLED OFFERING by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT HARMONY by FRANCES HALLEY BROCKETT |