WHEN Arria to her Paetus had bequeath'd The sword in her chaste bosom newly sheath'd; Trust me (quoth she) My own wound feels no smart; 'Tis thine (My Paetus) grieves and kills my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAMENT FOR CULLODEN by ROBERT BURNS A RENUNCIATION by EDWARD DE VERE ST. JOHN'S, CAMBRIDGE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE MOWER'S SONG by ANDREW MARVELL STILL LIFE by ANNE MILLAY BREMER CHARLIE HE'S MY DARLING by ROBERT BURNS FAMILIAR EPISTLES ON A SERMON, 'OFFICE & OPERATIONS OF HOLY SPIRIT': 4 by JOHN BYROM |