Ye flow'ry meads, where I do use to sing, And with complaining notes do often fill ye, Ye purling streams, where I with quav'ring string, Make music, tell the praise of my Azile; Ye shady groves and melancholy places, Where oft I do retire to sigh my wrongs, Ye lofty hills that oft hear my disgraces, To whom I chatter forth my heavy songs, Let these persuasions now your voices move, Say if I ever spake against my love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CORTEGE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI TO A SNOWFLAKE by FRANCIS THOMPSON AUNT FANNY; A LEGEND OF A SHIRT by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THREE PASTORAL ELEGIES: 2 by WILLIAM BASSE SICK BED by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 25 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT RECIPROCAL KINDNESS THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE by VINCENT BOURNE |