When those renowned noble peers of Greece Thrugh stubborn pride amongst themselves did jar, Forgetfull of the famous golden fleece, Then Orpheus with his harp theyr strife did bar. But this continuall cruell civill warre, The which my selfe against my selfe doe make, Whilest my weak powres of passions warreid arre, No skill can stint, nor reason can aslake. But when in hand my tunelesse harp I take, Then doe I more augment my foes despight, And griefe renew, and passions doe awake To battaile, fresh against my selfe to fight. Mongst whome the more I seeke to settle peace, The more I fynd their malice to increace. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VOLUNTEER by HERBERT HENRY ASQUITH EPITAPH ON A JACOBITE by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY A GENTLE ECHO ON WOMAN (IN THE DORIC MANNER) by JONATHAN SWIFT THE MAGIC MIRROR by HENRY MILLS ALDEN THE SPINNING-WHEEL (YONDERLAND SONG) by LYA BERGER ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE FROM O-- by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |