MY days, oh ye lovers, were happily sped, Ere you or your whimsies got into my head; I could laugh, I could sing, I could trifle and jest, And my heart play'd a regular tune in my breast. But now, lack-a-day! what a change for the worse, 'Tis as heavy as lead, yet as wild as a horse. My fingers, ere love had tormented my mind, Could guide my pen gently to what I design'd. I could make an enigma, a rebus, or riddle, Or tell a short tale of a dog and a fiddle; But since this vile Cupid has got in my brain, I beg of the gods to assist in my strain. And whatever my subject, the fancy still roves, And sings of hearts, raptures, flames, sorrows, and loves. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OVERTONES by WILLIAM ALEXANDER PERCY REPRESSION OF WAR EXPERIENCE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON IDYLLS OF THE KING: GERAINT AND ENID by ALFRED TENNYSON PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 50. AL-BAHITH by EDWIN ARNOLD SARAH THREENEEDLES (BOSTON, 1698) by KATHARINE LEE BATES TO AN ENEMY by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE MAID OF NEIDPATH by THOMAS CAMPBELL TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. WHO WILL LEARN FREEDOM? by EDWARD CARPENTER |