(ON THE FINISHING OF HIS HOUSE) Ah friend, 'tis true -- this truth you lovers know -- In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens: Joy lives not here; to happier seats it flies, And only dwells where WORTLEY casts her eyes. What are the gay parterre, the chequer'd shade, The morning bower, the ev'ning colonade, But soft recesses of uneasy minds, To sigh unheard in, to the passing winds? So the struck deer in some sequester'd part Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart; There, stretch'd unseen in coverts hid from day, Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE BEING AS VISION by HAYDEN CARRUTH ON BRODSKY'S COLLECTED by MICHAEL S. HARPER TRANSPOSITIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPRING DAY: NIGHT AND SLEEP by AMY LOWELL GIANT RED WOMAN by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 12 by CLARENCE MAJOR |