Behold what hap Pygmalion had to frame And carve his proper grief upon a stone; My heavy fortune is much like the same: I work on flint, and that's the cause I moan. For hapless, lo, ev'n with mine own desires, I figured on the table of my heart The fairest form the world's eye admires, And so did perish by my proper art. And still I toil to change the marble breast Of her whose sweetest grace I do adore, Yet cannot find her breathe unto my rest; Hard is her heart, and woe is me therefore. O happy he that joyed his stone and art; Unhappy I, to love a stony heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH I WANT TO LIVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TAPS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 5. MARYLAND by CLARENCE MAJOR THE SLAVE TRADE: VIEW FROM THE MIDDLE PASSAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR DOMESDAY BOOK: FINDING OF THE BODY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |