INSPIRATION
Not often do I feel that glow of thought
That fuses in its fire words, sense and soul
Into a living and triumphant whole,
Such as mere craftsmanship hath never wrought:
Yet in propitious hours that glow I feel,
And thoughts and words come freely and unbidden,
Such as I dreamed not in my mind were hidden,
And to myself a self unknown reveal:
Then do I know I've laboured not in vain.
And that what's written thus must needs endure,
Though evil fate may for a time obscure.
Or shallow critics slight it or disdain.
Vanity? No! That doth its own commend:
I speak of that which doth myself transcend.
THE POETS APOLOGY
"Why of yourself do you for ever write,
Tiring us with your dreams, your loves and woes?
Your petty thou^ts and passions are too slight
On which to raise a structure so verbose."
My friend, when I can wander in the sun
Divested of my shadow, then will I
Seek from myself and mine own thoughts to run.
And strive new worlds of fancy to descry.
The poet, though a Shakespeare, is a man.
And mirrors all men in his plastic mind.
And so, if but successfully he can
Express himself, expresses all mankind:
'Tis only when he's to himself untrue
That Nature and the Muse bid him adieu.
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