An unfortunate maid, I by love was betray'd, And wasted and pined by my grief; To deep solitudes then, Of rock, mountain and glen, From the world I retired for relief. Yet there by the sound Of my voice I am found, Though no footstep betrays where I tread; The poet and lover, My haunts to discover, Still leave at the dawn their soft bed. If the poet sublime Address me in rime, In rime I support conversation; To the lover's fond moan I return groan for groan, And by sympathy give consolation. Though I'm apt, 't is averr'd, To love the last word, Nor can I pretend 't is a fiction; I shall ne'er be so rude On your talk to intrude With anything like contradiction. The fair damsels of old By their mothers were told, That maids should be seen and not heard; The reverse is my case, For you'll ne'er see my face, To my voice all my charms are transferr'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PENT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BRUTUS LIVES AGAIN IN BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CHILDREN by CHARLES MONROE DICKINSON SUNKEN GOLD by EUGENE JACOB LEE-HAMILTON IN HONOR OF TAFFY TOPAZ by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY THE REAR-GUARD by SIEGFRIED SASSOON |