IN this month so fresh and gay, When all hearts for love prepare, And all folk, as best they may, Do the season's softness share; Me alone despiteful care Makes lament and fills with woe; Peerless Margaret, frank and fair, I to thee my sorrows owe. True, your eyes a gracious ray Full of gentle pity wear, Yet the softness they display Proves to me a subtle snare; Often thus the serpent's lair Hidden lies, some flower below; Peerless Margaret, frank and fair, 'Tis from thee my sorrows flow. Now since I grow old and grey, And am haunted by despair, I will (sorrow's weary prey) To a hermit's cell repair-- To a hermit's cell repair, Better to lament my woe; Peerless Margaret, frank and fair, 'Tis from thee my sorrows flow. But if Heaven's benignant sway Guide thy steps to wander where I, to hapless grief a prey, To a hermit's cell repair, And my sorrow thus declare, You might change, and pity show; Peerless Margaret, frank and fair, 'Tis from thee my sorrows flow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MORTAL COMBAT by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 8. ON LEAVING HOLLAND by MARK AKENSIDE THE FIRST BOOK OF URIZEN by WILLIAM BLAKE ODE TO A CHILD by MATHILDE BLIND IN IMMEMORIAM by EDWARD BRADLEY A PASTORAL OF PHILLIS AND CORYDON by NICHOLAS BRETON THE DISAPPOINTED TENDERFOOT by EARL ALONZO BRININSTOOL |