Tixall Poetry.
219
Mr Waller,
When He Was at Sea
While I was free, I wrote with high conceit,
And Love and Beauty rais'd above their height.
Love, that bereaves us both of brayne and hart,
Sorrow and silence doth at once impart.
What hand, at once, can wield a sword and write?
Or battel paynt engaged in the fight?
Who will describe a storme must not be there:
Passion writes well neither in love nor feare.
Why, on the naked boy, have poets then
Feathers and wings bestowed, that wants a penne?
And Love and Beauty rais'd above their height.
Love, that bereaves us both of brayne and hart,
Sorrow and silence doth at once impart.
What hand, at once, can wield a sword and write?
Or battel paynt engaged in the fight?
Who will describe a storme must not be there:
Passion writes well neither in love nor feare.
Why, on the naked boy, have poets then
Feathers and wings bestowed, that wants a penne?
