ON THE SONNET

If by dull rhymes our English must be chained,
And, like Andromeda, the sonnet sweet
Fettered, inspite of pained loveliness;
Let us find if we must be constrained,
Sandals more interwoven and complete
To fit the naked foot of poesy;
Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress
Of every chord, and see what may be gained
By ear industrious, and attention meet;
Misers of sound and syllable, no less
Than Midas of his coinage, let us be
Jealous of dead leaves in the bay-wreath crown;
So, if we may not let the muse be free,
She will be bound with garlands of her own.

John Keats
(1795-1821)

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