The Sonnet II

SCORN not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frown'd,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakespeare unlock'd his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camöens sooth'd an exile's grief;
The Sonnet glitter'd a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crown'd
His visionary brow: a glow—worm lamp,
It cheer'd mild Spenser, call'd from Faery—land
To struggle through dark ways; and when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul—animating strains—alas, too few!

William Wordsworth

Disclaimer: Gambar, artikel ataupun video yang ada di web ini terkadang berasal dari berbagai sumber media lain. Hak Cipta sepenuhnya dipegang oleh sumber tersebut. Jika ada masalah terkait hal ini, Anda dapat menghubungi kami disini.
Related Posts
Disqus Comments
© Copyright 2017 Quotesa - All Rights Reserved - Created By BLAGIOKE Diberdayakan oleh Blogger