FAIR fields, proud Flora's vaunt, why is't you smile Whenas I languish? You golden meads, why strive you to beguile My weeping anguish? I live to sorrow, you to pleasure spring: Why do you spring thus? What, will not Boreas, tempest's wrathful king, Take some pity on us, And send forth winter in her rusty weed, To wail my bemoanings, Whiles I distress'd do tune my country-reed Unto my groanings? But heaven, and earth, time, place, and every power Have with her conspir'd To turn my blissful sweets to baleful sour, Since fond I desir'd The heaven whereto my thoughts may not aspire. Ay me, unhappy! It was my fault t' embrace my bane, the fire That forceth me die. Mine be the pain, but her's the cruel cause Of this strange torment; Wherefore no time my banning prayers shall pause Till proud she repent. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARSHALL WASHER by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE WANTS OF MAN by JOHN QUINCY ADAMS EROS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE PRAYER PERFECT by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY ISAAC AND ARCHIBALD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE SEA-LIMITS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI AN HYMN IN HONOUR OF BEAUTY by EDMUND SPENSER |