HARK how she laughs aloud, Although the world put on its shroud; Wept at by the fantastic crowd, Who cry, One drop let fall From her might save the universal ball. She laughs again At our ridiculous pain; And at our merry misery She laughs until she cry. Sages, forbear That ill-contrived tear, Although your fear Doth barricado hope from your soft ear. That which still makes her mirth to flow Is our sinister-handed woe, Which downwards on its head doth go; And ere that it is sown, doth grow. This makes her spleen contract, And her just pleasure feast; For the unjustest act Is still the pleasant'st jest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPANISH WINGS: SENOR by H. BABCOCK FRAGMENT (2) by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MR. PETER'S STORY: THE BAGMAN'S DOG by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM PROVERBS 31:25-29. THE MOTHER OF THE HOUSE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE TO F.A.B., A VIRTUOUS YOUNG PHYSICIAN ABOUT TO PRACTISE by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB |