In vain fair Auburn weeps her desert plains; She moves our envy who so well complains. In vain has proud oppression laid her low; She wears a garland on her faded brow. Now, Auburn, now absolve impartial fate Which, if it made thee wretched, makes thee great. So, unobserv'd some humble plant may bloom, Till, crush'd, it fills the air with sweet perfume. So, had thy swains in ease and plenty slept, Thy Poet had not sung, nor Britain wept. Nor let Britannia mourn her drooping bay, Unhonoured genius, and her swift decay; Oh patron of the Poor! -- it cannot be, While one, one Poet yet remains like thee; Nor can the Muse desert our favoured isle Till thou desert the Muse and scorn her smile. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VISION by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE ECSTASY [EXTASIE] by JOHN DONNE TO LIVE MERRILY AND TO TRUST TO GOOD VERSES by ROBERT HERRICK A PETITION TO TIME by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER ODE TO THE WEST WIND by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ON THE LATE S.T. COLERIDGE by WASHINGTON ALLSTON TO MY FRIENDS, WHO RIDICULED A TENDER LEAVE-TAKING by MATTHEW ARNOLD |