To-morrow, brightest-eyed of Avon's train, To-morrow thou art, slave-like, bound and sold, Another's and another's! Haste away, Wind thro' the willows, dart along the path; It nought avails thee; nought our plaint avails. O happy those before me who could say "Short tho' thy period, sweet Tacaea, short Ere thou art destin'd to the depths below, Even from thy valley-cradle, saffron-strown, Thou passest half thy sunny hours with me." I mourn not, envy not, what others gain; Thee and thy venerable elms I mourn, Thy old protectors! ruthless was the pride And gaunt the need that made their heads lie low! I see the meadow's tender grass start back, See from their prostrate trunks the gory glare. Ah! pleasant was it once to watch thy waves Swelling o'er pliant beds of glossy weed; Pleasant to watch them dip amid the stones, Chirp, and spring over, glance and gleam along, And tripping light their wanton way pursue. Methinks they now with mellow mournfulnes Bid their faint breezes chide my fond delay, Nor suffer on the bridge nor on the knee My poor irregularly pencill'd page. Alas, Tacaea, thou art sore deceived! Here are no foreign words, no fatal seal, But thou and all who hear me shall avow The simple notes of sorrow's song are here. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: TOM MERRITT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MEETING AND PASSING by ROBERT FROST THE REVENGE OF HAMISH by SIDNEY LANIER SONNET: 18 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE NOREMBEGA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER A SONNET WRITTEN BY A NYMPH IN HER OWN BLOOD by CLAUDIO ACHILLINI |