MY thoughts hold mortal strife; I do detest my life, And with lamenting cries Peace to my soul to bring Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise: -- But he, grim-grinning King, Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise, Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHILD AND MOTHER by EUGENE FIELD SONNET: WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON by JOHN KEATS THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP by EMMA HART WILLARD THE MORAL FABLES: THE TALE OF THE COCK, AND THE JEWEL by AESOP SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 36 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A DIVINE MISTRESS by THOMAS CAREW A POET'S HOPE by WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING (1817-1901) |