Like a Babe, I Nurse at My Muse's BreastsLike a babe, I nurse at my muse's breasts
for her milk: so her rhymes I may ingest;
when I lack inspiration, back to health
she nurses me with her bosom's great wealth.
As I recover my strength from her milk,
my songs regain their lyric beauty like silk;
and harmonize in synchronous, rhythmic time
in sweet, dulcet, and most eloquent rhymes.
Without my muse rhymes would have no magic,
which would be far-fetched if it wasn't so tragic:
where would the bards be if not for the Muse?
If she were gone, all Creation would lose.
Without the milk from those nourishing breasts,
men and the bards would never be so blest!
Sonnet by Ngoc Nguyen
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Written on 2021-07-27 at 19:49
Tags Inspiration  Muse  Poetry
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