Constant Penelope sends to thee, careless Ulysses. Write not again, but come, sweet mate, thyself to revive me. Troy we do much envy, we desolate lost ladies of Greece, Not Priamus, nor yet all Troy can us recompense make. Oh, that he had, when he first took shipping to Lacedaemon, That adulter I mean, had been o'erwhelmed with waters. Then had I not lain now all alone, thus quivering for cold, Nor used this complaint, nor have thought the day to be so long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAT LADY by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE MENTAL TRAVELLER by WILLIAM BLAKE A DAY DREAM by EMILY JANE BRONTE BERNARDO DEL CARPIO by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS SALLY SIMKIN'S LAMENT by THOMAS HOOD BOSTON by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |