A PURLING brook glides by this place away, Its tribute to the royal Thames to pay, Nature makes arbours here, and ev'ry tree Disposes all its boughs to favour me; The birds' sweet notes here Echo's do repeat, Here gentle winds do moderate summer's heat: Clear is the air, and verdant is the grass, My couch of flowers, the stream's my looking-glass. Ah, Cynthia! All the birds that hear and see, Seem in their language to condole with me, And as I mourn, they pretty songs do sing, T' express thy rigour, and my suffering. Whilst to the list'ning air I make my moan, And sigh and murmur sitting here alone: The very air sighs at my misery, The waters murmur too in sympathy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IMPOSSIBLE INDISPENSIBILITY OF THE ARS POETICA by HAYDEN CARRUTH THEY ACCUSE ME OF NOT TALKING by HAYDEN CARRUTH WE FACE THE FUTURE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ON A LADY SINGING by ISAAC ROSENBERG FACADE: 22. ALONE by EDITH SITWELL COOPER SQUARE by KAREN SWENSON THE WHITE RABBIT by KAREN SWENSON TOWERS OF SIMON RODIA; FOR HOWARD W. SWENSON 1903-1081 by KAREN SWENSON |