I have not spent the April of my time, The sweet of youth, in plotting in the air; But do, at first adventure, seek to climb Whilst flowers of blooming years are green and fair. I am no leaving of all-withering age; I have not suffered many winter lours; I feel no storm unless my Love do rage, And then in grief I spend both days and hours. This yet doth comfort, that my flower lasted Until it did approach my sun too near: And then, alas, untimely was it blasted, So soon as once thy beauty did appear. But, after all, my comfort rests in this, That for thy sake my youth decayed is. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE COAT OF FIRE by EDITH SITWELL MEMORIAL DAY by WILLIAM E. BROOKS THE BLACK RIDERS: 22 by STEPHEN CRANE THE LAWYER'S WAYS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SORROW by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE MADONNA OF THE EVENING FLOWERS by AMY LOWELL METAMORPHOSES: BOOK 8. BAUCIS AND PHILEMON by PUBLIUS OVIDIUS NASO ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS' LOVE LETTERS by OSCAR WILDE |