You that do search for every purling spring Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows; And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring, You that do dictionary's method bring Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows; You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes With new-born sighs and denizened wit do sing: You take wrong ways, those far-fet helps be such As do bewray a want of inward touch: And sure at length stol'n goods do come to light. But if (both for your love and skill) your name You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of fame, Stella behold, and then begin to endite. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CONTRACT by EMILY DICKINSON RIDDLE ON THE LETTER H (1) by CATHERINE MARIA FANSHAWE TORTOISE SHELL by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: PETIT THE POET by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO R.K. by JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN SAME COTTAGE - BUT ANOTHER SONG, OF ANOTHER SEASON by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |