Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare, And tell me whereto can ye lyken it; When on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare An hundred Graces as in shade to sit. Lykest it seemeth, in my simple wit, Unto the fayre sunshine in somers day, That, when a dreadfull storme away is flit, Thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray: At sight whereof, each bird that sits on spray, And every beast that to his den was fled, Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay, And to the light lift up theyr drouping hed. So my storme beaten hart likewise is cheared With that sunshine, when cloudy looks are cleared. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABOVE HALF MOON by JAMES GALVIN UNCLE JIM'S BAPTIST REVIVAL HYMN by SIDNEY LANIER THE QUARREL by KATHERINE MANSFIELD DOMESDAY BOOK: AT NICE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN THE TRENCHES by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE POET (2) by ISAAC ROSENBERG |