And art thou born, brave babe? Blessed be thy birth! That so hath crowned our hopes, our spring, and earth, The bed of the chaste lily, and the rose! What month than May, was fitter to disclose This prince of flowers? Soon shoot thou up, and grow The same that thou art promised, but be slow, And long in changing. Let our nephews see Thee, quickly come the garden's eye to be, And there to stand so. Haste now, envious moon, And interpose thyself, (care not how soon) And threat' the great eclipse. Two hours but run, Sol will reshine. If not, Charles hath a son. . . . @3Non displicuisse meretur Festinat Caesar qui placuisse tibi@1. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE SECOND DAY: LADY WENTWORTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW BEREAVED by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY FRIENDSHIP; A SONNET by ALFRED TENNYSON BY BLUE ONTARIO'S SHORE by WALT WHITMAN SATISFIED by HESTER A. BENEDICT THE WINDING ROAD by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN |