TELL me, my Cælia, why so coy, Of men so much afraid; Cælia, 'tis better far to die A mother than a maid. The rose, when past its damask hue, Is always out of favour; And when the plum hath lost its blue, It loses too its flavour. To vernal flow'rs the rolling years Returning beauty bring; But faded once, thou'lt bloom no more, Nor know a second spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POST-MORTEM by EMILY DICKINSON THE DANCE OF THE SEVIN DEIDLY SYNNIS by WILLIAM DUNBAR CAELICA: 100 by FULKE GREVILLE RED JACKET by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH by THOMAS PARNELL ARCADIA: SESTINA by PHILIP SIDNEY FOR YOU O DEMOCRACY by WALT WHITMAN SOLILOQUIES OF A SMALL-TOWN TAXI-DRIVER: ON THE EMOTIONS by EDGAR BARRATT THE LAST MAN: ANTICIPATION OF EVIL TIDINGS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |