THEY mock my toil--the nymphs and amorous swains-- "And whence this fond attempt to write," they cry, "Love-songs in language that thou little knowest? "How darest thou risk to sing these foreign strains? "Say truly,--findest not oft thy purpose crossed, "And that thy fairest flowers here fade and die?" Then, with pretence of admiration high-- "Thee other shores expect, and other tides; "Rivers, on whose grassy sides "Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind "Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides; "Why then this burthen, better far declined?" Speak, Muse! for me.--The fair one said, who guides My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, "This is the language in which Love delights." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DELUSION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON NERVES by ARTHUR WILLIAM SYMONS PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S BURIAL HYMN by WALT WHITMAN NOREMBEGA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 21. YAKBUZU WA YABSUTU by EDWIN ARNOLD TRINITIE SUNDAY (FOR A BASE AND TWO TREBLES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |