Classic Poem

Caelia - Part 4

So sat the muses on the banks of Thames,
And pleas'd to sing our heavenly Spenser's wit,
Inspiring almost trees with pow'rful flames,
As Caelia when she sings what I have writ:
Methinks there is a spirit more divine,
An elegance more rare when ought is sung
By her sweet voice, in every verse of mine,
Than I conceive by any other tongue:
So a musician sets what some one plays
With better relish, sweeter stroke, than he
That first compos'd; nay, oft the maker weighs
If what he hears, his own, or other's be.
Such are my lines: the highest, best of choice,
Become more gracious by her sweetest voice.English