I PRITHEE turn that face away Whose splendour but benights my day. Sad eyes like mine, and wounded hearts Shun the bright rays which beauty darts. Unwelcome is the Sun that pries Into those shades where sorrow lies. Go, shine on happy things. To me That blessing is a misery: Whom thy fierce Sun not warms, but burns, Like that the sooty Indian turns. I'll serve the night, and there confin'd Wish thee less fair, or else more kind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OCTAVES: 21 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE WEST COUNTRY by ALICE CARY THE MESSAGE, FR. THE FAIR MAID OF THE EXCHANGE by THOMAS HEYWOOD ODE ON A GRECIAN URN by JOHN KEATS THE BRAES OF YARROW by JOHN LOGAN (1748-1788) |