"WHAT art thou saying, doing, pensive dove, Upon that withered tree?" "Ah, friend, I moan." "Why moanest thou?" "Because my mate is gone, Dearer than life." "Why left she this fair grove?" "A fowler, through the cruel craft he wove, Limed her and slew, since when I mourn alone And chide harsh Death that took my cherished one Yet would not slay me with her, my true love." "And art thou fain to die and join thy mate?" "Do I not languish in this darksome wood Forever by regret of her pursued?" "O gentle birdlings, happy is your fate! Nature herself in love hath nurtured you To die or live unchanging lovers true." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BATTLE-FIELD by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ODE TO TOBACCO by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY OF TREASON by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS I AM NOT YOURS by SARA TEASDALE ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE WASHINGTON BICENTENNIAL by CLARA BECK |