HELP! Help! Ye Nymphs, whilst on the neighb'ring plain Your flocks do feed, come and assistance bring; Alas! Fair Cynthia's sick and languishing, For whom my heart endures a greater pain. Ye Syrens of the Thames, let all your train Tune their shrill Instruments, and to them sing, And let its flow'ry banks with echoes ring, This may her wonted cheerful looks regain. Ye herbs, that richest med'cines can produce, Come quickly and afford such sov'reign juice, As from her heart may all the pains remove: But in her face if death would paleness give, And Fate ordain that she in torment live, Then let her suffer in the flames of Love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE DEATH OF SWINBURNE by SARA TEASDALE EARLY MORN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES MOTHER NATURE by EMILY DICKINSON ROBIN REDBREAST by GEORGE WASHINGTON DOANE THE FORERUNNERS by GEORGE HERBERT THAT NATURE IS A HERACLITEAN FIRE & OF THE COMFORT OF THE RESURRECTION by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS TWO LIVES: CONCLUSION. INDIAN SUMMER by WILLIAM ELLERY LEONARD |