BEWAIL not much, my parents! me, the prey Of ruthless Hades, and sepulchred here. An infant, in my fifth scarce finished year, He found all sportive, innocent, and gay, Your young Callimachus; and if I knew Not many joys, my griefs were also few. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHARLES CARVILLE'S EYES by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON OLD TRAILS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON TO MY HONORED FRIEND SIR ROBERT HOWARD by JOHN DRYDEN BATTLE SONG by EBENEZER ELLIOTT ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE: THE POWER OF MUSIC by SAMUEL LISLE TO A CONTEMPORARY BUNKSHOOTER by CARL SANDBURG THE DAY-DREAM: THE SLEEPING PALACE by ALFRED TENNYSON |