WHEN a sigh as of abdication is wrung from lordly things By the rumour of crumbling pride that the eve of autumn brings; When the troubled splendours come, and the green perfections go, Amid flitting of vagabond tempest irresolute to and fro; "Ask, ask thou a boon," say the Heavens to the wistful Earth; but in vain She asks for the bliss of the Rose, and the pomp of the Nightingale's pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IDYLLS OF THE KING: GUINEVERE by ALFRED TENNYSON AUTUMN WOODS by ANNA M. ACKERMANN LITTLE BERNHARD by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS TWELVE SONNETS: 2 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) MELANCHOLY by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES TO BEN JONSON; UPON OCCASION OF HIS ODE OF DEFIANCE ... by THOMAS CAREW |