WHEN first I here to Cynthia spake my mind, Near these sweet streams, which to our thoughts were kind: Ah, then in perfect harmony we met, And to our concert join'd the rivulet. The flowers, plants, echoes, craggy rocks and dales, The pleasant meads, proud hills, and humble vales, Seem'd then o'erjoy'd at my felicity, Which now condole with me in misery. Yet still the wing'd inhab'tants of the wood Sing, as my change they had not understood: tho' sure the melancholy tunes they vent Are rather notes of grief, than merriment. Oh Nymphs, that in these crystal streams do dwell! And after sport rest quiet in your cell: Once, clear as yours, a happy life I led, Tho' now o'erwhelm'd with grief, and live as dead. Thus we through various turns of Fortune run, And find no certain rest till Life be done. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SOCIOLOGY OF TOYOTAS AND JADE CHRYSANTHEMUMS by HAYDEN CARRUTH MARIA CALLAS, THE WOMAN BEHIND THE LEGEND* by MADELINE DEFREES ITALIAN PICTURES: COSTA MAGIC by MINA LOY CHARLOTTE CORDAY (REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL, JULY 17, 1793) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IPPOLIT KONOVALOFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |