FROM rosy bowers, where sleeps the god of love, Hither, ye little waiting cupids, fly; Teach me, in soft, melodious strains to move, With tender passion my heart's darling joy: Ah! let the soul of musick tune my voice, To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys. Or, if more influencing Is to be brisk and airy, With a step and a bound, And a frisk from the ground, I'll trip like any fairy. As once, on Ida dancing Were three celestial bodies, With an air and a face, And a shape and a grace, I'll charm like beauty's goddess. Ah! ah! 'tis in vain, 'tis all in vain, Death and despair must end the fatal pain; Cold, cold despair, disguised like snow and rain, Falls on my breast; bleak winds in tempests blow, My veins all shiver, and my fingers glow, My pulse beats a dead march for lost repose, And to a solid lump of ice my poor fond heart is froze. Or say, ye powers, my peace to crown, Shall I thaw myself, or drown Among the foaming billows, Increasing all with tears I shed, On beds of ooze, and crystal pillows. Lay down my love-sick head? No, no, no, no, I'll straight run mad, That soon my heart will warm; When once the sense is fled, Love has no power to charm Wild thro' the woods I'll fly; Robes, locks, shall thus be tore, A thousand deaths I'll die, Ere thus, in vain, adore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADVICE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 2. IN CHURCH by THOMAS HARDY THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES' by ISOBEL (ISABEL) PAGAN CHANNING by AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT NOT TO BE MINISTERED TO by MALTBIE DAVENPORT BABCOCK |