Whilst my heart bleeding writes that deadlie wound Receaved of late in honnors overthrow With our brave Prince, whose worth noe words can sound Sorrow must dictate, what my zeale would shew Sorrow for that deare Treasure wee have loste, Zeale to the memorie of what wee had, And that is all they cann, that cann saye moste. Soe sings my Muse, in zeale and sorrow clad. Soe sung Achilles to his Silver Harpe, When flowle affroont had reft his faire delight, Soe sings sweet Philomel against the sharpe Soe sings the Swan, when lyfe is taking flight. Soe sings my Zeale the notes that sorrow weepes Which antheme sung my Muse for ever sleepes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WHITE HOUSE by CLAUDE MCKAY THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY GOBLIN MARKET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI WINTER MEMORIES by HENRY DAVID THOREAU A TOMB BY THE SEA by AULUS LICINIUS ARCHIAS PENTRIDGE BY THE RIVER by WILLIAM BARNES |