Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live; for Buckingham commends. Let crowds of criticks now my verse assail, Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail: This more than pays whole years of thankless pain; Time, health, and fortune, are not lost in vain. Sheffield approves, consenting Phoebus bends, And I and Malice from this hour are friends. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CENTRAL PARK AT DUSK by SARA TEASDALE SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 20 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING DORA VERSUS ROSE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE FIVE STUDENTS by THOMAS HARDY THE LAMENT OF THE FLOWERS by JONES VERY LINES TO ROBERT ALDERSON UPON HIS DEPARTURE FROM WARRINGTON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: TO THE READER by WILLIAM BASSE |