Would God, my Burges, I could think Thoughts worthy of thy gift, this ink, Then would I promise here to give Verse, that should thee, and me outlive. But since the wine hath steeped my brain, I only can the paper stain; Yet with a dye, that fears no moth, But scarlet-like outlasts the cloth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A FRIEND by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD ON GEORGE HERBERT'S BOOK, THE TEMPLE, SENT TO A GENTLEWOMAN by RICHARD CRASHAW RECESSIONAL by RUDYARD KIPLING TROY TOWN by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI AT MAGNOLIA CEMETERY by HENRY TIMROD A PORTRAIT by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD A HEART-HAUNTED HOME by JANE BARLOW |