Now that each feather'd chorister doth sing The glad approaches of the welcome Spring: Now Phoebus darts forth his more early beam And dips it later in the curled stream, I should to custom prove a retrograde Did I still dote upon my sullen shade. Oft have the seasons finish'd and begun; Days into months, those into years have run, Since my cross stars and inauspicious fate Doom'd me to linger here without my mate Whose loss ere since befrosting my desire, Left me an Altar without gift or fire. I therefore could have wish'd for your own sake That Fortune had design'd a nobler stake For you to draw, than one whose fading day Like to a dedicated taper lay Within a tomb, and long burnt out in vain, Since nothing there saw better by the flame. Yet since you like your chance, I must not try To mar it through my incapacity. I here make title to it, and proclaim How much you honour me to wear my name; Who can no form of gratitude devise, But offer up myself your sacrifice. Hail, then, my worthy lot! and may each morn Successive springs of joy to you be born: May your content ne'er wane until my heart Grown bankrupt, wants good wishes to impart. Henceforth I need not make the dust my shrine, Nor search the grave for my lost Valentine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHILDREN by CHARLES MONROE DICKINSON THE CHOIRMASTER'S BURIAL by THOMAS HARDY A MIDSUMMER'S NOON IN THE AUSTRALIAN FOREST by CHARLES HARPUR THE TROPICS IN NEW YORK by CLAUDE MCKAY GIRL TO SOLDIER ON LEAVE by ISAAC ROSENBERG IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 25 by ALFRED TENNYSON PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 10. AL-JABBAR by EDWIN ARNOLD |