Oft, when my lips I open to rehearse <br />Thy wondrous spells of wisdom and of power, <br />And that my voice and thy immortal verse <br />On listening ears and hearts I mingled pour, <br />I shrink dismayed—and awful doth appear <br />The vain presumption of my own weak deed; <br />Thy glorious spirit seems to mine so near, <br />That suddenly I tremble as I read— <br />Thee an invisible auditor I fear : <br />Oh, if it might be so, my master dear! <br />With what beseeching would I pray to thee, <br />To make me equal to my noble task, <br />Succour from thee, how humbly would I ask, <br />Thy worthiest works to utter worthily.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-shakespeare-ii/
