Who sayes that fictions onely and false hair
Become a verse? Is there in truth no beautie?
Is all good structure in a winding stair?
May no lines passe, except they do their dutie
Not to a true, but painted chair?
Is it not verse, except enchanted groves
And sudden arbours shadow coarse-spunne lines?
Must purling streams refresh a lover's loves?
Must all be vail'd, while he that reades, divines,
Catching the sense at two removes?
Shepherds are honest people; let them sing:
Riddle who list, for me, and pull for prime:
I envie no man's nightingale or spring;
Nor let them punish me with losse of ryme,
Who plainly say, My God, My King.
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This is amazing and strikes at the very heart of what occured with my husband, and strikes at the very heart why I always felt ashamed of my poetry too, and never really considered myself a poet. Even my instructors who used to teach me about 'The Psalms', and 'Job', said that those were not the expression of a real person, but was crafted together as literature with the character made up....which I suppose could be true- look at all the 'created' characters in books, and movies. So I guess I am still grappeling with the question. The stars in hollywoood aren't being 'honest', in terms of 'themselves', they have perfected the art of 'acting'. So I guess I am still feeling the debate- but this poem makes me feel like there is nothing wrong with sharing genuine feelings, and thoughts in poetry. Thanks for this- I am going to show it to my husband.
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