No Muse of Mine # I
(sonnet # CLVI)
CLVI
I muse indeed yet use not her whose way
Forever is unknown, and comes or goes
At her own pleasure, fairy light, a rose
And treasure, butterfly whose leisure may
Or then not fancy measure out to pay
A glitt'ring coinage rare to faithful beaus
Which fawning wait upon her shrine as those
Devoted to her charms and in her sway.
Nay, scorn I to such homage give since my
Desire, though lit afire when I aspire
To write fine lines that lilting fly, or sigh
Upon the wafting breeze in sweet attire,
Though led by flights and transient dreams quite high,
Is to be mine, no captive paying her hire.
Nor Oracle # II
(sonnet # CLVII)
CLVII
A captive at her bidding, beck and whims;
Caprice her trademark in those flights so fair
Aloft, with passion dripping everywhere:
In darkest night amongst the stars she skims
Quite lightly, flitting gaily; deeply swims
In ocean's rushing currents; surging ere
The morning dawns serene with golden flair,
And sweetest symphonies breathe out her hymns.
Yet what's implied in saying thus of ourselves?
Whene'er we claim to be inspired as by
A god or spirit, oracles, the helves
These wield we thereby are, which yet is nigh
On devilish in sense; in all such delves
Led off to hell at length by these...to die.
Just Me I Think # III
(sonnet # CLVIII)
CLVIII
No fabled muse nor oracle creates
Nor can be blamed or claimed to e'er inspire
This pen that blythely scribbles with desire,
At fancy's whispers tripping mayhap, (baits
Sufficient for sweet dreams) which it awaits
Or meets as fuel indeed, and may require
I ween, yet mine alone it is entire,
Nor other being with it conspires or sates.
Ideas come: the nat'ral world with dear
Scenes manifold and darling critters, light
And colours, fragrance, songs we love to hear,
Or rustic cheer, all round or rarely bright,
Those little joys and beauties through the year
Delight, by romance tinged, wherewith I write.
17Jul11