Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death wound, fly; See there that boy, that murth'ring boy I say, Who like a thief hid in dark bush doth lie, Till bloody bullet get him wrongful prey. So tyrant he no fitter place could spy, Nor so fair level in so secret stay As that sweet black which veils the heavn'ly eye; There himself with his shot he close doth lay. Poor passenger, pass now thereby I did, And stayed, pleased with the prospect of the place, While that black hue from me the bad guest hid: But straight I saw motions of lightning grace, And then descried the glist'ring of his dart: But ere I could fly thence, it pierced my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DREAMER by SHAEMAS O'SHEEL POLITICAL GREATNESS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE WIDOW'S LAMENT IN SPRINGTIME by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS SYMBOL OF OUR COUNTRY by MAUD MCKINSEY BUTLER LINES ON A PICTURE OF A GIRL IN THE ATTITUDE OF A PRAYER BY THE ARTIST GRUSE by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS ON HER BIRTHDAY by THOMAS CAMPBELL |