Why are all fair things at their death the fairest? Beauty the beautifullest in decay? Why doth rich sunset clothe each closing day With ever-new apparelling the rarest? Why are the sweetest melodies all born Of pain and sorrow? Mourneth not the dove, In the green forest gloom, an absent love? Leaning her breast against that cruel thorn, Doth not the nightingale, poor bird, complain And integrate her uncontrollable woe To such perfection, that to hear is pain? Thus, Sorrow and Death -- alone realities -- Sweeten their ministration, and bestow On troublous life a relish of the skies! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IDEA by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON TO ONE WHO ASKS by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS ORNITHOPOLIS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN UNCHANGING THEME by FLORENCE BROOKS BEETHOVEN by ETHEL TONRY CARPENTER THE INDIAN HUNTER by ELIZA COOK DA JOB DAT RAN AWAY by THOMAS AUGUSTINE DALY |