The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness Bewray itself in my long settled eyes, Whence these same fumes of melancholy rise With idle pains, and missing aim, do guess. Some, that know how my spring I did address, Deem that my muse some fruit of knowledge plies; Others, because the prince my service tries, Think that I think state errors to redress. But harder judges judge ambition's rage, Scourge of itself, still climbing slippery place, Holds my young brain captived in golden cage. O fools, or over-wise: alas, the race Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WOMAN, GALLUP, N.M. by KAREN SWENSON THE FOREFATHER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE WATCH OF A SWAN by SARAH MORGAN BRYAN PIATT SONNET: TO SLEEP by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE SOFTNESS OF SYBARIS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS PROMETHEUS UNBOUND: THE RED SEA by AESCHYLUS HUSH OF TWILIGHT by G. KENYON ASHENDEN IN EMULATION OF MR. COWLEYS POEM CALL'D THE MOTTO by MARY ASTELL |