35 Sonnets — Sonnet VI

VI.

As a bad orator, badly o’er-book-skilled, Doth overflow his purpose with made heat, And, like a clock, winds with withoutness willed What should have been an inner instinct’s feat;

Or as a prose-wit, harshly poet turned, Lacking the subtler music in his measure, With useless care labours but to be spurned, Courting in alien speech the Muse’s pleasure;

I study how to love or how to hate, Estranged by consciousness from sentiment, With a thought feeling forced to be sedate Even when the feeling’s nature is violent;

As who would learn to swim without the river, When nearest to the trick, as far as ever.