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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374520" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Of English Verse</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374520" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Poets may boast, as safely vain,<br>Their works shall with the world remain;<br>Both, bound together, live or die,<br>The verses and the prophecy.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374520" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But who can hope his lines should long<br>Last in a daily changing tongue?<br>While they are new, envy prevails;<br>And as that dies, our language fails.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374520" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When architects have done their part,<br>The matter may betray their art;<br>Time, if we use ill-chosen stone,<br>Soon brings a well-built palace down.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374520" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Poets that lasting marble seek<br>Must carve in Latin or in Greek;<br>We write in sand, our language grows,<br>And, like the tide, our work o'erflows.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374520" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Chaucer his sense can only boast,<br>The glory of his numbers lost!<br>Years have defaced his matchless strain,<br>And yet he did not sing in vain.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374520" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The beauties which adorned that age,<br>The shining subjects of his rage,<br>Hoping they should immortal prove,<br>Rewarded with success his love.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374520" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">This was the generous poet's scope,<br>And all an English pen can hope,<br>To make the fair approve his flame,<br>That can so far extend their fame.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374520" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Verse, thus designed, has no ill fate<br>If it arrive but at the date<br>Of fading beauty; if it prove<br>But as long-lived as present love.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edmund+Waller">Edmund Waller</a></strong></div>

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