False Love, too long thou hast delay'd, Too late I make my choice; Yet win for me that precious maid, And bid my heart rejoice -- Then shall mine eyes shoot youthful fire, My cheek with triumph glow, And other maids that glance desire Which I on one bestow. Make her with smile divinely bland Beam sunshine o'er my face, And Time shall touch with gentlest hand What she hath deign'd to grace; O'er scanty locks full wreaths I'll wear, No wrinkled brow to shade, Her joy will smooth the furrows there Which earlier griefs have made. Though sports of youth he tedious toil When youth has pass'd away, I'll cast aside the martial spoil With her light locks to play: Yea, turn, sweet Maid, from tented fields To rove where dewdrops shine, Nor care what hand the sceptre wields, So thou wilt grant me thine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NUPTIAL SONG by JOHN BYRNE LEICESTER WARREN THE INDIAN UPON GOD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE TRAGEDY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH POEM FOR PICTURE: TO A DRAWING OF A HORSE BY GEORGIO DI CHIRICO by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE THIRD FYTTE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 10 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |