September Poetry -- 1 of --n

J$


From: js@cs.vu.nl (J$)
Newsgroups: nl.eeuwig.september
Subject: September Poetry -- 1 of --n
Date: Mon, 30 Sep 1996 23:19:08 +0200
Organization: Diff'rent colours, made of tears
Message-ID: <js-3009962319080001@js.home.phil.ruu.nl>

          The Sad  Lover
        -- Thomas Lodge --


    The earth, late chokıd with showers,
      Is now arrayıd in green;
    Her bosom springs with flowers,
      The air dissolves her teen:
    The heavens laugh at her glory,
    Yet bide I sad and sorry.
    The woods are deckıd with leaves,
      and trees are clothed gay;
    And Flora, crownıd with sheaves,
      With oaken boughs doth play;
    Where I am clad in black
    The token of my wrack.

    The birds upon the trees
      Do sing with pleasant voices,
    And chant in their degrees
      Their loves and lucky choices:
    When I, whilst they are singing,
    With sighs mine arms are wringing.

    The thrushes seek the shade,
      And I my fatal grave;
    Their flight to heaven is made,
      My walk on earth I have:
    They free, I thrall; they jolly,
    I sad and pensive wholly.