If by
dull rhymes our
English must be
chain'd,
And, like
Andromeda, the
Sonnet sweet
Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness;
Let us find out, if we must be
constrain'd,
Sandals more interwoven and complete
To fit
the naked foot of poesy;
Let us
inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress
Of every
chord, and see what may be gain'd
By ear industrious, and attention meet:
Misers of sound and syllable, no less
Than
Midas of his coinage, let us be
Jealous of dead leaves in the
bay wreath crown;
So, if we may not
let the Muse be free,
She will be bound with
garlands of her own.
- John Keats