A golden Flie one shew'd to me Clos'd in a Box of Yvorie: Where both seem'd proud; the Flie to have His buriall in an yvory grave: The yvorie tooke State to hold A Corps as bright as burnisht gold. One Fate had both; both equall Grace; The Buried, and the Burying-place. Not Virgils Gnat, to whom the Spring All Flowers sent to'is burying. Not Marshals Bee, which in a Bead Of Amber quick was buried. Nor that fine Worme that do's interre Her self i'th' silken Sepulchre. Nor my rare Phil, that lately was With Lillies Tomb'd up in a Glasse; More honour had, then this same Flie; Dead, and closed up in Yvorie. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 22 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 56 by EDWARD TAYLOR THE FLATTERERS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE COMPLAINT OF POETIE, FOR THE DEATH OF LIBERALITE by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE LAST MAN: ROSILY DYING by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES CALIFORNIA RAIN by MARGERY AILYN BISHOP SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY: 2. A POLITICAL 'BOSS' by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |