How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky <br />The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled! <br />Hues of all flow'rs, that in their ashes lie, <br />Trophied in that fair light whereon they fed,— <br />Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet rose red,— <br />Like exhalations from the leafy mould, <br />Look here how honor glorifies the dead, <br />And warms their scutcheons with a glance of gold!— <br />Such is the memory of poets old, <br />Who on Parnassus' hill have bloom'd elate; <br />Now they are laid under their marbles cold, <br />And turned to clay, whereof they were create; <br />But god Apollo hath them all enroll'd, <br />And blazon'd on the very clouds of Fate!<br /><br />Thomas Hood<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-written-in-a-volume-of-shakespeare/
