ON these mill'd rags -- a change mysterious! -- I with a goose-quill must rehearse Partly in jest, and partly serious, Some foolish nonsense turn'd to verse. I, who am wont my thoughts to utter Upon thy rosy lips so fair With kisses that like bright flames splutter Up from my bosom's inmost lair! O fashion's rage! If I'm a poet, E'en by my wife I'm plagued at times Until (and other minstrels know it) I in her album scrawl some rhymes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY CROSS DAY by ROBERT BROWNING ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 13. ON LYRIC POETRY by MARK AKENSIDE AN OLD BURYING GROUND by ELFRIDA DE RENNE BARROW WATER SPORT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 33 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH IN MEMORIAM G.D. by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 40 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |