Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside! O, blame me not, if I no more can write! Look in your glass, and there appears a face That over-goes my blunt invention quite, Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace. Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, To mar the subject that before was well? For to no other pass my verses tend Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; And more, much more, than in my verse can sit Your own glass shows you when you look in it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY [1621] by MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON THE COTTON BOLL by HENRY TIMROD IMITATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE by JOHN ARMSTRONG AN ENGLISH SHELL by ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON FIRST MUSICIAN'S SONG, FR. LAODICE AND DANAE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY AN ELEGY ON MR. WILLIAM HOPTON by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: NEWS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |