Not when the buxom form which nature wears Is pregnant with the lusty warmth of Spring; Nor when hot Summer, sunk with what she bears, Lies panting in her flowery offering; Nor yet when dusty Autumn sadly fares In tattered garb, through which the shrewd winds sing, To bear her treasures to the griping snares Hard Winter set for the poor bankrupt thing; Not even when Winter, heir of all the year, Deals, like a miser, round his niggard board The brimming plenty of his luscious hoard; No, not in nature, change she howsoe'er, Can I find perfect type or worthy peer Of the fair maid in whom my heart is stored. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FLOWER BOAT by ROBERT FROST THE FUNERAL by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE LINCOLN by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY HENDECASYLLABICS by ALFRED TENNYSON COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE NEAR CALAIS [AUGUST 1802] by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE THIRD SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |