YE Cupids, droop each little head, Nor let your wings with joy be spread, My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead, Whom dearer than her eyes she loved: For he was gentle, and so true, Obedient to her call he flew, No fear, no wild alarm he knew, But lightly o'er her bosom moved. And softly fluttering here and there, He never sought to cleave the air, But chirup'd oft, and, free from care, Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. Now having pass'd the gloomy bourne From whence he never can return, His death and Lesbia's grief I mourn, Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain. Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave! Whose jaws eternal victims crave, From whom no earthly power can save, For thou hast ta'en the bird away: From thee my lesbia's eyes o'erflow, Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow; Thou art the cause of all her woe, Receptacle of life's decay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION FLANNAN ISLE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON HELIOTROPE by HARRY THURSTON PECK THE LOTOS-EATERS by ALFRED TENNYSON EMERSON by AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT RAMBLE OF THE GODS THROUGH BIRMINGHAM, SELECTION by JAMES BISSET JERUSALEM; THE EMANATION OF THE GIANT ALBION: CHAPTER 2 by WILLIAM BLAKE |