A PURLING brook glides by this place away, Its tribute to the royal Thames to pay, Nature makes arbours here, and ev'ry tree Disposes all its boughs to favour me; The birds' sweet notes here Echo's do repeat, Here gentle winds do moderate summer's heat: Clear is the air, and verdant is the grass, My couch of flowers, the stream's my looking-glass. Ah, Cynthia! All the birds that hear and see, Seem in their language to condole with me, And as I mourn, they pretty songs do sing, T' express thy rigour, and my suffering. Whilst to the list'ning air I make my moan, And sigh and murmur sitting here alone: The very air sighs at my misery, The waters murmur too in sympathy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS AND THE POET (FOR SARA TEASDALE) by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ROUEN; 26 APRIL - 25 MAY 1915 by MAY WEDDERBURN CANNAN THE BATTLEFIELD by EMILY DICKINSON THE OLD MAN DREAMS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES ROBERT E. LEE by JULIA WARD HOWE A SHORT SONG OF CONGRATULATION by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BENJAMIN PANTIER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |