UNHAPPY Muse, that nothing pleasest me, But tir'st thyself to reap another's bliss, She that as much forbears thy melody, As fearful maidens do the serpent's hiss, Doth she not fly away when I would sing? Or doth she stay, when I with many a tear Keep solemn time to my woes' uttering; And ask what wild birds grant to lend an ear O hapless tongue, in silence ever live, And ye, my founts of tears, forbear supply: Since neither words, nor tears, nor Muse can give Ought worth the pitying such a wretch as I. Grieve to yourselves, if needs you will deplore, Till tears and words are spent for evermore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR COUNTRY'S CALL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS (THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON) by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM by GEORGE FREDERICK ROOT THE HAND OF LINCOLN by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN |