HOW wretched does Promethe'us state appear, Whilst he his Second Mis'ry suffers here! Draw him no more, lest as he tortur'd stands, He blame great Jove's less then the Painter's hands. It would the Vultur's cruelty out-go, If once again his Liver thus should grow. Pity him, Jove, and his bold Theft allow; The Flames he once stole from Thee grant him now. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOROUGH: LETTER 22. POOR OF THE BOROUGH. PETER GRIMES by GEORGE CRABBE THE EVE OF ST. AGNES by JOHN KEATS GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 4 by RICHARD BARNFIELD ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |