Great, good and just, could I but rate My grief to thy too rigid fate! I'd weep the world in a such a strain, As it would once deluge again: But since thy loud-tongu'd blood demands supplies, More from Briareus hands, than Argus eyes, I'll tune thy elegies to trumpet sounds, And write thy epitaph in blood and wounds! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS OUT OF SORROW: REFUGE by SARA TEASDALE SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 35 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE OLD MAN OF VERONA by CLAUDIAN MY LADY'S TEARS by JOHN DOWLAND THE MEMORY OF MARTHA by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ON ENGLISH MONSIEUR by BEN JONSON PRAYER OF A SOLDIER IN FRANCE by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER THE FIGHT AT SAN JACINTO [APRIL 21, 1836] by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER |