FAR from the arms of her I love, By fate too cruel doom'd to sigh. To desert climes forlorn I rove: How lighter far the task, to die! When from my soul's soft treasure torn Will Delia think on Colin's name? In fancy hear the exile mourn, In fancy see his sorrows stream? Say will not fear a pang inspire, When winds the mountain billows form, When lightnings flash their forky fire, And awful thunder swells the storm? A dread will surely then prevail, Thy soul a kind compassion move, When memory tells the tender tale Of all my woes, and hapless love. Then will thy fancy paint the swain Aghast, on life's extremest verge, Now struggling in the roaring main— Now dead, and sunk beneath the surge. Yet let not visions thus alarm Thy soft and feeling heart with fear: For thee, Heaven shields my head from harm, To save such innocence a tear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SAGA OF THE SMALL-BREASTED WOMAN by KAREN SWENSON THE VALLEY'S SINGING DAY by ROBERT FROST SONNET PREFIXED TO 'NENNIO, OR A TREATISE OF NOBILITY' by EDMUND SPENSER SONNET TO CHARLOTTE M-- by BERNARD BARTON JENNIE HARRIS OLIVER by THERESA DRULEY BLACK BLIND MAN'S BUFF by WILLIAM BLAKE THE UNQUIET EYE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |