Muses, which sadly sit about my chair, Drown'd in the tears extorted by my lines, With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air, Painting my passions in these sad designs, Since she disdains to bless my happy verse, The strong-built trophies to her living fame, Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse, Wherein the world shall now entomb her name. Enclose my music, you poor senseless walls, Since she is deaf and will not hear my moans, Soften yourselves with every tear that falls, Whilst I, like Orpheus, sing to trees and stones, Which with my plaint seem yet with pity mov'd, Kinder than she whom I so long have lov'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 6 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING COMRADE JESUS by SARAH NORCLIFFE CLEGHORN THE BELL by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 68. AL-KADAR by EDWIN ARNOLD LILIES: 8 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE PUPPETS by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |