HAD I beheld thy Muse upon the stage, A poesy in fashion with this age; Or had I seen, when first I view'd thy task, An active wit dance in a satyr's mask, I should in those have prais'd thy wit and art, But not thy ground, a poem's better part: Which being the perfect'st image of the brain, Not fram'd to any base end, but to gain True approbation of the artist's worth, When to an open view he sets it forth, Judiciously he strives no less t'adorn By a choice subject than a curious form: Well hast thou then pass'd o'er all other rhyme, And in a Pastoral spent thy leisure's time: Where fruit so fair, and field so fruitful is, That hard it is to judge whether in this The substance or the fashion more excel, So precious is the gem, and wrought so well. Thus rest thou prais'd of me, fruit, field, gem, art, Do claim much praise to equal such desert. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HERETIC: 4. HUMILITY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE LAST WORD OF A BLUEBIRD; AS TOLD TO A CHILD by ROBERT FROST TO SIR HENRY GOODYERE by BEN JONSON GREEK ARCHITECTURE by HERMAN MELVILLE TASTING THE EARTH by JAMES OPPENHEIM AUTUMN SONG by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY LOVE by EDMUND SPENSER |