THOUGH singing but the shy and sweet Untrod by multitudes of feet, Songs bounded by the brook and wheat, I have not failed in this, The only lure my woodland note, To win all England's whitest throat! O bards in gold and fire who wrote, Be yours all other bliss! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PALINGENESIS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY by JOHN MILTON STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1718 by JONATHAN SWIFT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 66. THE THREE AGES OF WOMAN: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |