My muse may well grudge at my heavenly joy, If still I force her in sad rhymes to creep; She oft hath drunk my tears, now hopes to enjoy Nectar of mirth, since I Jove's cup do keep. Sonnets be not bound prentice to annoy; Trebles sing high, as well as basses deep; Grief but love's winter livery is; the boy Hath cheeks to smile, as well as eyes to weep. Come then my muse, show thou height of delight In well raised notes; my pen the best it may Shall paint out joy, though but in black and white. Cease, eager muse; peace pen, for my sake stay; I give you here my hand for truth of this: Wise silence is best music unto bliss. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STATE OF WYOMING by KAREN SWENSON THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK by ROBERT HERRICK ON KEATS, WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED: by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE WRITER'S JOURNAL: POSSESSION by BAYARD TAYLOR A LULLABY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA IMPROMPTU: TO FRANCES GARNET WOLSELEY by ALFRED AUSTIN LONG CHERISHED GRIEF by MIRIAM BARRANGER ZOPHIEL; OR THE BRIDE OF SEVEN: CANTO 3. PALACE OF THE GNOMES by MARIA GOWEN BROOKS |