O Truant Muse, What Shall Be Thy
O
truant
Muse,
what
shall
be
thy
amends
For
thy
neglect
of
truth
in
beauty
dyed?
Both
truth
and
beauty
on
my
love
depends;
So
dost
thou
too,
and
therein
dignified.
Make
answer,
Muse.
Wilt
thou
not
haply
say,
"Truth
needs
no
colour
with
his
colour
fixed,
Beauty
no
pencil,
beauty's
truth
to
lay,
But
best
is
best,
if
never
intermixed"?
Because
he
needs
no
praise,
wilt
thou
be
dumb?
Excuse
not
silence
so,
for't
lies
in
thee
To
make
him
much
outlive
a
gilded
tomb
And
to
be
praised
of
ages
yet
to
be.
Then
do
thy
office,
Muse;
I
teach
thee
how
To
make
him
seem,
long
hence,
as
he
shows
now.
