Perilla! to thy fates resign'd, Think not what years are gone: While Atalanta lookt behind The golden fruit roll'd on. Albeit a mother may have lost The plaything at her breast, Albeit the one she cherisht most, It but endears the rest. Youth, my Perilla, clings on Hope, And looks into the skies For brighter day; she fears to cope With grief, she shrinks at sighs. Why should the memory of the past Make you and me complain? Come, as we could not hold it fast, We'll play it o'er again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEATH OF STONEWALL JACKSON by HENRY LYNDEN FLASH EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: BATTERIES OUT OF AMMUNITION by RUDYARD KIPLING EPITAPH (ON A COMMONPLACE PERSON WHO DIED IN BED) by AMY LEVY ULTIMA THULE: MY CATHEDRAL by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW CORRYMEELA by NESTA HIGGINSON SKRINE THE OLD LOBSTERMAN by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE |