Sonnet CCXXVII: O World, I Owe Thee Nothing; and I Had
O World, I owe thee nothing; I have had
Not even my wages from thy niggard hand,
For all I gave thee, at my God’s command,
Through travail hard, inglorious and sad.
If I did nothing that could make thee glad,
I also never took a forward stand,
Vaunting my right to wear the laurel band;
But sang, uncrowned, as humble nature bade.
I have received such notice as might curl
A poet’s lips with measureless disdain—
The praise of fools, a worthless boon of pain,
Or friendly hint, or censure from the churl,
Who deigned to scorn the rubbish of my brain;
Or vapid wonder from an amorous girl!
