Sonnet: He owes nothing to Guido as a Poet
What rhymes are thine which I have ta'en from thee,
Thou Guido, that thou ever say'st I thieve?
'Tis true, fine fancies gladly I receive,
But when was aught found beautiful in thee?
Nay, I have searched my pages diligently,
And tell the truth, and lie not, by your leave.
From whose rich store my web of songs I weave
Love knoweth well, well knowing them and me.
No artist I,—all men may gather it;
Nor do I work in ignorance of pride,
(Though the world reach alone the coarser sense;)
But am a certain man of humble wit
Who journeys with his sorrow at his side,
For a heart's sake, alas! that is gone hence.
Thou Guido, that thou ever say'st I thieve?
'Tis true, fine fancies gladly I receive,
But when was aught found beautiful in thee?
Nay, I have searched my pages diligently,
And tell the truth, and lie not, by your leave.
From whose rich store my web of songs I weave
Love knoweth well, well knowing them and me.
No artist I,—all men may gather it;
Nor do I work in ignorance of pride,
(Though the world reach alone the coarser sense;)
But am a certain man of humble wit
Who journeys with his sorrow at his side,
For a heart's sake, alas! that is gone hence.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.