LADY, your art or wit could ne'er devise To shame me more than in this night's surprise. Why, I am quite unready, and my eye Now winking like my candle, doth deny To guide my hand, if it had aught to write; Nor can I make my drowsy sense indite Which by your verses' music (as a spell Sent from the Sybellean Oracle) Is charm'd and bound in wonder and delight, Faster than all the leaden chains of night. What pity is it then you should so ill Employ the bounty of your flowing quill, As to expend on him your bedward thought, Who can acknowledge that large love in nought But this lean wish; that fate soon send you those Who may requite your rhymes with midnight prose? Meantime, may all delights and pleasing themes Like masquers revel in your maiden dreams, Whilst dull to write, and to do more unmeet, I, as the night invites me, fall asleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FARE WELL by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE OUR DAILY BREAD by MALTBIE DAVENPORT BABCOCK BOUTS RIMES IN PRAISE OF OLD MAIDS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 18. A PORTRAIT by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) GEORGE WASHINGTON by LAURA REW BIXBY RELIQUES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A LITTLE SONG by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |