'Alas, alas!' said Moschus in his woe, When Bion died, 'he comes not back to sing His songs, nor other lip his notes can bring From the same pipe.' So Bath regrets her Beau: Her waters bubble upward without stop, Each market sees her flowers and fruits replaced; Potherbs and roses - plums of every taste - And peaches, brimming with ambrosial slop; All this repeats itself, a constant birth; But mighty Nash, strong-willed and bold and shrewd, Who awed and charmed that modish multitude, Hath found no heirs, and to the hollow earth Bequeaths his fame; for none his place may take; - Long have such honours slept, and may not reawake! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VALEDICTION: OF WEEPING by JOHN DONNE ALASTOR; OR, THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE PROFESSION OF FLATTERY by ANTIPHANES EXPECTATION by GLADYS BRIERLY ASHOUR IN THE CATACOMBS by HARLAN HOUSE BALLARD STANZAS TO WILLIAM ROSCOE, ESQ. by BERNARD BARTON THE ARID LANDS by HERBERT BASHFORD |