What two brave perils of the private sword Could not effect, not all the furies do, That self-divided Belgia did afford; What not the envy of the seas reached to, The cold of Moscow, and fat Irish air, His often change of clime (though not of mind) What could not work; at home in his repair Was his blessed fate, but our hard lot to find. Which shows, wherever death doth please t'appear, Seas, serenes, swords, shot, sickness, all are there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM AND EMILY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NATURE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 119 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 7 by ALFRED TENNYSON EPIGRAM: 18. THE ENEMY OF LIFE by THOMAS WYATT GRAY MOOD by MARJORIE AKERMAN B. ANNA BULLEN, ACT 1: SHORT CURSE by JOHN BANKS (17TH CENTURY-) |