"What is this world to me? A harp sans melodie; A dream of vain idlesse, A thought of bitterness, That grieves the aching brain, And gnaws the heart in twain! My spirit pines allwaie, Like captive shut from day; Or like a sillie flower, Estranged from sun and shower ''" Which, withering, soon must die, In love-lorne privacie. No joye my hearte doth finde, With those they calle my kinde; O dull it is and sad, To see how men waxe bad: As Autumn leaves decay, So verteue fades away! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OVERTURE TO A DANCE OF LOCOMOTIVES by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS TWO SONNETS: 2 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) CHORUS OF A SONG THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |