'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...FAITH by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SOUVENIR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MA LADY'S LIPS AM LIKE DE HONEY (NEGRO LOVE SONG) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON EPITAPH IN A CHURCH-YARD IN CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA by AMY LOWELL RECESSIONAL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS OCTAVES: 21 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |