Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write,
And sayst my lines be dull and do not move,
I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight,
Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love;
But thou whose pen hath like a packhorse served,
Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food,
Whose senses like poor prisoners, hunger-starved
Whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood;
Thou which hast scornë"d life and hated death,
And in a moment, mad, sober, glad, and sorry;
Thou which hast banned thy thoughts and curst thy birth
With thousand plagues more than in purgatory;
Thou thus whose spirit love in his fire refines,
Come thou and read, admire, applaud my lines!
Sonnets: Idea Xlix
Michael Drayton
(1)
Poem topics: birth, death, feel, fire, food, grief, life, never, poor, sorry, moment, write, brain, spirit, stomach, admire, touch, glad, hunger, delight, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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