From being anxious, or secure, Dead clods of sadnesse, or light squibs of mirth, From thinking, that great courts immure All, or no happinesse, or that this earth Is only for our prison fram'd, Or that thou art covetous To them whom thou lovest, or that they are maim'd From reaching this worlds sweet, who seek thee thus, With all their might, Good Lord deliver us. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO SONGS: 2 by CECIL DAY LEWIS CHIQUITA by FRANCIS BRET HARTE SAMSON AGONISTES by JOHN MILTON WINTERTIME by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON UNDER MY WINDOW by THOMAS WESTWOOD THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 1 by MARK AKENSIDE THE PASSERS BY by AL-RADI BILLAH |