Why doe not all fresh maids appeare To work Love's Sampler onely here, Where spring-time smiles throughout the yeare? Are not here Rose-buds, Pinks, all flowers, Nature begets by th' Sun and showers, Met in one Hearce-cloth, to ore-spred The body of the under-dead? Phill, the late dead, the late dead Deare, O! may no eye distill a Teare For you once lost, who weep not here! Had Lesbia (too-too-kind) but known This Sparrow, she had scorn'd her own: And for this dead which under-lies, Wept out her heart, as well as eyes. But endlesse Peace, sit here, and keep My Phill, the time he has to sleep, And thousand Virgins come and weep, To make these flowrie Carpets show Fresh, as their blood; and ever grow, Till passengers shall spend their doome, Not Virgil's Gnat had such a Tomb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN WASSON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS VILLAGE IN LATE SUMMER by CARL SANDBURG MARY AND GABRIEL by RUPERT BROOKE DEAD COW FARM by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE LABORS OF HERCULES by MARIANNE MOORE HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |