good bye to the muse.
91
Yet they say, and I fear there is truth in the tale,
In sickness, in age, or in sorrow,
The fair-promising Muse will her votary fail,
And a hint from expediency borrow;
In sickness, in age, or in sorrow,
The fair-promising Muse will her votary fail,
And a hint from expediency borrow;
Then 'tis better to tear the fresh laurel, I ween,
While it blossoms and flaunts on my brow,
Than to wait till cold winter has wither'd its green,
And to watch while it perishes slow;
While it blossoms and flaunts on my brow,
Than to wait till cold winter has wither'd its green,
And to watch while it perishes slow;
And 'tis better to yield while unbiass'd and free,
Than to wait till a blessing is taken;
So I take a proud leave gentle Music of thee,
That by thee I may ne'er be forsaken!
Than to wait till a blessing is taken;
So I take a proud leave gentle Music of thee,
That by thee I may ne'er be forsaken!
