I struck the board, and cried, "No more. I will abroad. What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit? Sure there was wine Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn Before my tears did drown it. Is the year only lost to me? Have I no bays to crown it? No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted? All wasted? Not so, my heart: but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands, Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw, And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away, take heed, I will abroad, Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load." But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild At every word, Me thought I heard one calling, Child! And I replied, My Lord. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FOR PICTURES: A VENETIAN PASTORAL (BY GIOGIONE) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A SONNET. ON CYNTHIA SICK by PHILIP AYRES LILIES: 4. BLOSSOMS ABOVE A TOMB by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) IN MEMORY OF AGOSTINO ISOLA, OF CAMBRIDGE, WHO DIED 1797 by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS A SPRAY OF HONEYSUCKLE by MARY EMILY NEELEY BRADLEY |