THE lover, in melodious verses, His singular distress rehearses, Still closing with a rueful cry, "Was ever such a wretch as I?" Yes! thousands have endured before All thy distress; some, haply more. Unnumbered Corydons complain, And Strephons, of the like disdain: And if thy Chloe be of steel, Too deaf to hear, too hard to feel; Not her alone that censure fits, Nor thou alone hast lost thy wits. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ENGLISH GRAVEYARD IN MALACCA by KAREN SWENSON AS THE TEAM'S HEAD BRASS by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS DOVE RIVER ANTHOLOGY, BY OWN WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: LUCY GRAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MY SOLITUDE by JAMES R. AGGELES PERPLEXITY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA THE SHEPHERD'S CONTENT by RICHARD BARNFIELD |