NOR on beds of fading flowers, Shedding soon their gaudy pride, Nor with swains in syren bowers, Will true pleasure long reside: On awful virtue's hill sublime Enthroned sits th' immortal fair; Who wins her height must patient climb: The steps are peril, toil, and care: So, from the first, did Jove ordain Eternal bliss for transient pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEFILED SANCTUARY by WILLIAM BLAKE FATHER LAND AND MOTHER TONGUE by SAMUEL LOVER BUCOLIC COMEDY: AUBADE by EDITH SITWELL THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 8. THE CABLE HYMN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER WYATT BEING IN PRISON, TO BRIAN by THOMAS WYATT FROM A YOUNG WOMAN TO AN OLD OFFICER WHO COURTED HER by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST |