What need hast thou of me, or of my muse, Whose actions so themselves do celebrate? Which should thy country's love to speak refuse, Her foes enough would fame thee in their hate. 'Tofore, great men were glad of poets: now, I, not the worst, am covetous of thee. Yet dare not, to my thought, least hope allow Of adding to thy fame; thine may to me, When in my book, men read but Cecil's name, And what I write thereof find far, and free From servile flattery (common poets' shame) As thou stand'st clear of the necessity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON SIR PALMES FAIRBORNE'S TOMB, IN WESTERMINSTER ABBEY by JOHN DRYDEN ON BOARD THE '76; WRITTEN FOR BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL PICTURES FROM APPLEDORE: 1 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THOMAS HOOD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE FEMALE GOD by ISAAC ROSENBERG ETHIOPIA SALUTING THE COLORS by WALT WHITMAN |