No praise for Poesie do I affect Nor flatteries hoped meed doth me encite Such base borne thoughts, as servile I reject Sorrow doth dictate, what my zeale doth write Sorrow for that rich tresor wee have lost Zeale to the memory of what wee had And that is all they cann, that cann say most So sings my Muse, in zeale and sorrow clad. So sunge Achilles to his silver harpe When fowle affrount, had reft his faire delight, So sings sweet Philomell, against the sharpe, So sings the Swann, when life is taking flight So sings my zeale, the noats that sorrowe weepes Which Antheam sunge, my Muse for ever sleepes | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPEAKIN' O' CHRISTMAS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SPARKLING AND BRIGHT by CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN THE ARMADA; A FRAGMENT by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THE TOKEN by FRANK TEMPLETON PRINCE I HAVE LOVED by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS PORTRAIT SONNETS: 1 by HENRY BELLAMANN JERUSALEM; THE EMANATION OF THE GIANT ALBION: CHAPTER 2 by WILLIAM BLAKE |