Whilst my heart bleeding writes that deadlie wound Receaved of late in honnors overthrow With our brave Prince, whose worth noe words can sound Sorrow must dictate, what my zeale would shew Sorrow for that deare Treasure wee have loste, Zeale to the memorie of what wee had, And that is all they cann, that cann saye moste. Soe sings my Muse, in zeale and sorrow clad. Soe sung Achilles to his Silver Harpe, When flowle affroont had reft his faire delight, Soe sings sweet Philomel against the sharpe Soe sings the Swan, when lyfe is taking flight. Soe sings my Zeale the notes that sorrow weepes Which antheme sung my Muse for ever sleepes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLACES 1. TWILIGHT (TUCSON) by SARA TEASDALE AT THE TAVERN by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR JOHN BROWN'S BODY by CHARLES SPRAGUE HALL THE STIRRUP-CUP by SIDNEY LANIER THE CLIFF SWALLOWS by DEBRA NYSTROM THE SONG OF THE MOUTH-ORGAN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 25. MOTHER AND SON by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON CRUCIFIXION TO THE WORLD BY THE CROSS OF CHRIST by ISAAC WATTS |