Blest is yon shepherd, on the turf reclined, Who on the varied clouds which float above Lies idly gazing -- while his vacant mind Pours out some tale antique of rural love! Ah! he has never felt the pangs that move Th' indignant spirit, when with selfish pride, Friends, on whose faith the trusting heart rely'd, Unkindly shun th' imploring eye of woe! The ills they ought to soothe, with taunts deride, And laugh at tears themselves have forced to flow. Nor his rude bosom those fine feelings melt, Children of Sentiment and Knowledge born, Thro' whom each shaft with cruel force is felt, Empoison'd by deceit -- or barb'd with scorn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOURNEY TO A KNOWN PLACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SONG FOR COLIN by SARA TEASDALE ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA by GEORGE BERKELEY THE DANCE OF THE SEVIN DEIDLY SYNNIS by WILLIAM DUNBAR PASSER MORTUUS EST by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY |