TELL me, my Cælia, why so coy, Of men so much afraid; Cælia, 'tis better far to die A mother than a maid. The rose, when past its damask hue, Is always out of favour; And when the plum hath lost its blue, It loses too its flavour. To vernal flow'rs the rolling years Returning beauty bring; But faded once, thou'lt bloom no more, Nor know a second spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BATTLE OF BRITAIN by CECIL DAY LEWIS THE BOSTON ATHENAEUM by AMY LOWELL THE SUNFLOWER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE ANDROMEDA by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE NEW COLOSSUS by EMMA LAZARUS THE OLD MAN'S WISH by WALTER POPE |