I MOURNED beneath the willow tree, When shrouded came a nymph to me And slid her hand in mine. Her boldness I did much upbraid, And said: "Begone, thou wanton maid; I seek no love of thine! "Nor do I hope to wake again My heart all stricken with disdain, And drive it forth to woo. No! no! Forlorn I sit and sigh, And call on Death to let me die, Since Phyllis is untrue." "Ah!" cried the maid, "why therefore chide, Since I indeed am fitting bride For one so pale and wan?" She held me in a close embrace, Nor could I see her hidden face, And still I cried: "Begone!" "If thou art Love, thy labour's vain; I hold thy boldness in disdain, I care no more to woo. But be thou Death, for whom I cry, Thy lover then indeed am I, Since Phyllis is untrue." "Oh! I am Love," she whispered low, "And fain I too with Death would go; My lover—cold is he, Who bids me fly the trysting-place." She raised the veil from off her face— My Phyllis smiled on me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...QUATORZAINS: 5. TO NIGHT by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE SAILOR TO HIS PARROT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES SEA GODS: 1 by HILDA DOOLITTLE AFTER MUSIC by JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ODE; SUNG BY THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS by W. T. ADAMS THE MORAL FABLES: THE TALE OF THE TWO MICE by AESOP RAMBLE OF THE GODS THROUGH BIRMINGHAM, SELECTION by JAMES BISSET |