But now, to Thee, faire Bride, it is some wrong, To thinke thou wert in Bed so long, Since Soone thou lyest downe first, tis fit Thou in first rising should'st allow for it. Pouder thy Radiant haire, Which if without such ashes thou would'st weare, Thou, which to all which come to looke upon, Art meant for Phoebus, would'st be Phaeton. For our ease, give thine eyes th'unusual part Of joy, a Teare; so quencht, thou maist impart, To us that come, thy inflaming eyes, to him, thy loving heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BROTHERHOOD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON VASHTI by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BARNEY HAINSFEATHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EUGENIA TODD by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE WIZARD IN WORDS by MARIANNE MOORE ON THE WAY (PHILADELPHIA, 1794) by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON LINES ON LEAVING THE BEDFORD STR. SCHOOL HOUSE by GEORGE SANTAYANA |