I sigh, fair injur'd stranger! for thy fate; But what shall sighs avail thee? thy poor heart, 'Mid all the 'pomp and circumstance' of state, Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, start Sad recollections of Hope's garish dream, That shaped a seraph form, and named it Love, Its hues gay-varying, as the orient beam Varies the neck of Cytherea's dove. To one soft accent of domestic joy Poor are the shouts that shake the high-arch'd dome; Those plaudits that thy public path annoy, Alas! they tell thee -- Thou'rt a wretch at home! O then retire, and weep! Their very woes Solace the guiltless. Drop the pearly flood On thy sweet infant, as the full-blown rose, Surcharg'd with dew, bends o'er its neighbouring bud. And ah! that Truth some holy spell might lend To lure thy Wanderer from the Syren's power; Then bid your souls inseparably blend Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF SUMMER by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE MOUNTAIN ECHO by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE by HENRY WOTTON THE WESTERN JOURNALIST by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A THOUGHT FOR MOTHER'S DAY by MAMIE COLLINS BARRY THE LOST LADY: SONG by WILLIAM BERKLEY MIND IN CREATION by RICHARD BLACKMORE THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: ANTARA by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |