PHYLLIS, O Phyllis! Thou art fondly vain, My wavering thoughts thus to molest, Why should my pleasure be the only pain, That must torment my easy breast? If with Prometheus I had stolen fire, Fire from above, As scorching, and as bright, as that of Love, I might deserve Jove's ire, A vulture then might on my liver feed, But now eternally I bleed, And yet on Thee, on Thee lies all the blame, Who freely gav'st the fuel and the flame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 1. 1887 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN SONNET: TO SLEEP by JOHN KEATS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: HARRY WILMANS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ARMY CORRESPONDENT'S LAST RIDE; FIVE FORKS, APRIL 1, 1865 by GEORGE ALFRED TOWNSEND ON BUTLER'S MONUMENT [IN WESTMINSTER] by SAMUEL WESLEY |