When Shakespeare sent his sonnets to his friend, Although they breathed immortal scorn of time, Abashed he wrote, lest something might offend, 'Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme.' But I, who bring this meagre gift indeed, Unused to bare my bosom to men's eyes, What love shall I invoke, that you should read, When all my love you know not, or despise? Despise the verse, for I will make it new, Rich with your beauty and this gift of tears, Till but by telling what I saw in you I lift my head among my laurelled peers. Then late, when in all hearts your praises dwell, Remembering you shall say, He loved me well. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LITTLE WHILE by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 5 by EZRA POUND OUR LADY OF CONSOLATION by GORDON BOTTOMLEY IRRECONCILIATION by FRANCES BROWN (20TH CENTURY) NOT YET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |