If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd' As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd. No, it was builded far from accident; It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls: It fears not policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short-number'd hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with showers. To this I witness call the fools of time, Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BUSY HEART by RUPERT BROOKE IN THIS AGE OF HARD TRYING, NONCHALANCE IS GOOD AND by MARIANNE MOORE THE BOTTOM DRAWER by MARY A. BARR HER ANSWER by JOHN BENNETT (1865-1956) A MANUAL MORE ANCIENT THAT THE ART OF PRINTING ... by VINCENT BOURNE A WASTED MORNING by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |