THEE I would think one of the many Wise, Who in Eliza's time sat eminent, To our now world, his Purgatory, sent To teach us what true English Poets prize. Pasquilant froth and foreign galliardize Are none of thine; but, when of gay intent, Thou usest staid old English merriment, Mannerly mirth, which no one dare despise. The scoffs and girds of our poor critic rout Must move thy pity, as amidst their mime, Monk of Truth's Order, from thy memories Thou dost updraw sublime simplicities, Grand Thoughts that never can be wearied out, Showing the unreality of Time. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BARNEY'S INVITATION by PHILIP FRENEAU THE TRIUMPH OF TIME by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE BELLS AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |