Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LOVE POEMS: 11, by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643)



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LOVE POEMS: 11, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Caelia is gone, and now I sit
Last Line: More grief in parting, but grow old and die.
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, William Of Tavistock
Subject(s): Love - Loss Of


CÆLIA is gone, and now sit I
As Philomela, on a thorn,
Turn'd out of Nature's livery,
Mirthless, alone, and all forlorn;
Only she sings not, while my sorrows can
Afford such notes as fit a dying swan.
So shuts the marigold her leaves
At the departure of the sun;
So from honeysuckle sheaves
The bee goes when the day is done.
So sits the turtle when she is but one;
So is all woe; as I, now she is gone.
To some few birds kind Nature hath
Made all the summer as one day,
Which once enjoy'd, cold winter's wrath,
As night, they sleeping pass away:
Those happy creatures are that know not yet
The pains to be depriv'd, or to forget.
I oft have heard men say there be
Some that with confidence profess
The helpful Art of Memory;
But could they teach Forgetfulness,
I'd learn and try what further art could do
To make me love her and forget her too.
Sad Melancholy that persuades
Men from themselves to think they be
Headless or other bodies' shades,
Hath long and bootless dwelt with me;
For could I think she some Idea were,
I still might love, forget, and have her here;
But such she is not: nor would I,
For twice as many torments more,
As her bereaved company
Hath brought to those I felt before;
For then no future time might hap to know,
That she deserv'd, or I did love her so.
Ye hours then but as minutes be,
(Though so I shall be sooner old,)
Till I those lovely graces see,
Which but in her can none behold:
Then be an age that we may never try
More grief in parting, but grow old and die.





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