Of what avail the tardy showers, To the famished summer flowers? All in vain the rain-drops cry, Dead things never make reply. Life's belated cup of bliss, Woo the weary lips to kiss, When the singing is a sigh, Pulses quivering, to die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MIDSUMMER FROST (2) by ISAAC ROSENBERG ON A LADY SINGING by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE WILDERNESS TRANSFORMED by PHILIP DODDRIDGE THE PARADOX by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SONNET ON SITTING DOWN TO READ KING LEAR ONCE AGAIN by JOHN KEATS SONNET: 19. ON HIS BLINDNESS by JOHN MILTON |