My muse's absence saw another bloom
Saw I review of a praise, richly gathered.
Defer your attribute with golden plume
And dearest phrase is by all wit shattered.
I think nice aims while some write words,
And like untutored youths pipe amen
To every hymn that alert ardor affords
In shiny form of discriminating pen.
Hearing you praised, I say it is true,
And to utmost praise I add much more:
But that is in my head, as thou loves you,
Such words are final, they hold rank before.
Then others for sake of words give relief,
Tho my silent thoughts do indeed speak.