WHEN Phoebe form'd a wanton smile, My soul! it reach'd not here! Strange, that thy peace, thou trembler, flies Before a rising tear! From midst the drops, my love is born, That o'er those eyelids rove: Thus issued from a teeming wave The fabled queen of love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUFFERED UNDER PONTIUS PILATE, WAS CRUCIFIED, DEAD, AND BURIED by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER ON A PORTRAIT OF WORDSWORTH BY B.R. HAYDON by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE LAMP [LAMPE] by HENRY VAUGHAN THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION: BOOK 2 by MARK AKENSIDE GRIEF WAS SENT THEE FOR THY GOOD by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY DAWN MAGIC by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN OXFORD IN WAR-TIME by LAURENCE BINYON |