THE BOOK OF SONNETS. "Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned His visionary brow: a glow-worm Lamp, It cheered mild Spenser, called from faery-land, To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp The Thing became a Trumpet, whence he blew WORDSWORTH. "Sundrie Flowers, bound up in one small Posie; gathered partly in fyue ontndish gardens; and partly out of our owne fruite full orchardes in Englande." TITLE OF AN OLD BOOK OF POEMS. |