O joy too high for my low style to show; O bliss, fit for a nobler state than me; Envy, put out thine eyes, lest thou do see What oceans of delight in me do flow. My friend, that oft saw through all masks of woe, Come, come, and let me pour myself on thee; Gone is the winter of my misery, My spring appears, O see what here doth grow! For Stella hath, with words where faith doth shine, Of her high heart giv'n me the monarchy; I, I, O I may say that she is mine. And though she give but thus conditionally This realm of bliss, while virtuous course I take, No kings be crowned, but they some covenents make. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: TENNESSEE CLAFLIN SHOPE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE (1889) by CAROLINE KING DUER A BALLAD OF LONDON (TO H.W. MASSINGHAM) by RICHARD THOMAS LE GALLIENNE SATAN ABSOLVED; A VICTORIAN MYSTERY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ON THE NIGHT EXPRESS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE TO A.G.A. by EMILY JANE BRONTE SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 30 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |