Inspired by Muse of Fire our Friday sonnet is number 100. Where art thou, Muse, that thou forgetst so long To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spendst thou thy fury on some worthless song, Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem In gentle numbers time so idly spent; Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem And gives thy pen both skill and argument. Rise, restive Muse, my loves sweet face survey, If Time have any wrinkle graven there; If any, be a satire to decay, And make Times spoils despised every where. Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life; So thou preventst his scythe and crooked knife.
Posted on: Fri, 01 Aug 2014 17:10:02 +0000
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