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ReadingWillow structured literacy program for Australian students

Scorn Not the Sonnet

William Wordsworth·1770–1850
Lines:14
Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,Mindless of its just honours; with this keyShakespeare unlocked his heart; the melodyOf this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;With it Camöens soothed an exile's grief;The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leafAmid the cypress with which Dante crownedHis visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp,It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-landTo struggle through dark ways; and, when a dampFell round the path of Milton, in his handThe Thing became a trumpet; whence he blewSoul-animating strains--alas, too few!