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 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
A SONNET ON SONNETS.
When memory takes a retrospective gazeUpon the bright effusions of my brain,
She can not find—I note the fact with pain—
'Mid all that heterogeneous mass of lays,
A single Sonnet! This might blight a fame
Greater—if greater can be—than the one
Which now reward the muses' favorite son—
I mean myself—and gilds his deathless name.
This must not be, and so I'll write one now.
Let's see; it must comprise just fourteen lines,
Dull, flat, and heavy; this at least combines
The requisites alluded to, I trow!
Two more complete it; now the bard entwines
The ne plus ultra garland round his laurelled brow!
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |