Ah bed, the field where joy's peace some do see, The field where all my thoughts to war be trained, How is thy grace by my strange fortune stained! How thy lee shores by my sighs stormed be! With sweet soft shades thou oft invitest me To steal some rest; but, wretch, I am constrained (Spurred with love's spur, though galled and shortly reined With care's hard hand) to turn and toss in thee, While the black horrors of the silent night Paint woe's black face so lively to my sight That tedious leisure marks each wrinkled line. But when Aurora leads out Phoebus' dance, Mine eyes then only wink, for spite, perchance, That worms should have their sun, and I want mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BALCONY by PAUL VERLAINE ECHOES: 7 by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE EAGLE THAT IS FORGOTTEN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP by ROBERT SOUTHWELL WHAT TOMAS AN BUILE SAID IN A PUB by JAMES STEPHENS AT ELLIS ISLAND by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS |