I MOURNED beneath the willow tree, When shrouded came a nymph to me And slid her hand in mine. Her boldness I did much upbraid, And said: "Begone, thou wanton maid; I seek no love of thine! "Nor do I hope to wake again My heart all stricken with disdain, And drive it forth to woo. No! no! Forlorn I sit and sigh, And call on Death to let me die, Since Phyllis is untrue." "Ah!" cried the maid, "why therefore chide, Since I indeed am fitting bride For one so pale and wan?" She held me in a close embrace, Nor could I see her hidden face, And still I cried: "Begone!" "If thou art Love, thy labour's vain; I hold thy boldness in disdain, I care no more to woo. But be thou Death, for whom I cry, Thy lover then indeed am I, Since Phyllis is untrue." "Oh! I am Love," she whispered low, "And fain I too with Death would go; My lover—cold is he, Who bids me fly the trysting-place." She raised the veil from off her face— My Phyllis smiled on me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHAPE OF THE CORONER by WALLACE STEVENS HALLOWED GROUND by THOMAS CAMPBELL A MOMENT by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE FUCHSIA HEDGES IN CONNACHT by PADRAIC COLUM THE VILLAIN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: HARRY WILMANS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ARIEL'S SONG (1) [OR, DIRGE] [OR, A SEA DIRGE]. FR. THE TEMPEST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |