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.