TO write as your sweet mother does <br />Is all you wish to do. <br />Play, sing, and smile for others, Rose! <br />Let others write for you. <br /> <br />Or mount again your Dartmoor grey, <br />And I will walk beside, <br />Until we reach that quiet bay <br />Which only hears the tide. <br /> <br />Then wave at me your pencil, then <br />At distance bid me stand, <br />Before the cavern’d cliff, again <br />The creature of your hand. <br /> <br />And bid me then go past the nook <br />To sketch me less in size; <br />There are but few content to look <br />So little in your eyes. <br /> <br />Delight us with the gifts you have, <br />And wish for none beyond: <br />To some be gay, to some be grave, <br />To one (blest youth!) be fond. <br /> <br />Pleasures there are how close to Pain, <br />And better unpossest! <br />Let poetry’s too throbbing vein <br />Lie quiet in your breast.<br /><br />Walter Savage Landor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/advice-37/
