Sonnet Lix:

LIX If I am never merry when my brow Aches with the pressure of this laurel crown; And looks severe, and almost half a frown Of sober awe my vestured figure bow; 'Tis but because the service will allow No scanted worship; for the heart must own What the mouth speaketh, or the words were sown Upon the winds that idly ebb and flow. I often enter at the temple door As light of heart as any layman may; But when I think of poets, gone before, Who served this ancient shrine with harp and lay, And what traditions sanctify their clay, My solemn functions touch me to the core.