Poetry Explorer


Classic and Contemporary Poetry


CAELICA: 57 by FULKE GREVILLE

Poet Analysis

First Line: CAELICA, YOU BLAME ME THAT I SUFFER NOT
Last Line: NO SOONER TASTE OF AIR BUT I AM DEAD.

Caelica, you blame me that I suffer not
Absence with joy, authority with ease;
Caelica, what powers can nature's inside blot?
They must look pale without that feel disease.

You say that you do, like fair Tagus' streams,
Swell over those that would your channels choke,
Yielding due tribute unto Phoebus' beams,
Yet not made dry with loss of vapor's smoke.

Caelica, 'tis true, birds that do swim and fly
The waters can endure to have and miss,
Their feet for seas, their wings are for the sky,
Nor error is it, that of nature is.
I, like the fish bequeathed to Neptune's bed,
No sooner taste of air but I am dead.



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