When early morn walks forth in sober grey; Then to my black ey'd maid I haste away, When evening sits beneath her dusky bow'r, And gently sighs away the silent hour; The village bell alarms, away I go; And the vale darkens at my pensive woe. To that sweet village, where my black ey'd maid Doth drop a tear beneath the silent shade, I turn my eyes; and, pensive as I go, Curse my black stars, and bless my pleasing woe. Oft when the summer sleeps among the trees, Whisp'ring faint murmurs to the scanty breeze, I walk the village round; if at her side A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride, I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe, That made my love so high, and me so low. O should she e'er prove false, his limbs I'd tear, And throw all pity on the burning air; I'd curse bright fortune for my mixed lot, And then I'd die in peace, and be forgot. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN DEY 'LISTED COLORED SOLDIERS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR DOLORES by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE LITTLE BILLEE by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY AN ODE OF ANACREON by ANACREON SONNET TO NICHOLAS BLACKLEECH OF GRAYES INNE by RICHARD BARNFIELD SONNET: 10 by RICHARD BARNFIELD |