FOOLISH prater, what dost thou
So early at my window do?
Cruel bird, thou’st ta’en away
A dream out of my arms to-day;
A dream that ne’er must equall’d be
By all that waking eyes may see.
Thou this damage to repair
Nothing half so sweet and fair,
Nothing half so good, canst bring,
Tho’ men say thou bring’st the Spring.
About the poet |
Abraham Cowley |
By the same poet |
Anacreontics: 1. Drinking |
Anacreontics: 2. The Epicure |
On the Death of Mr. William Hervey |
The Wish |
Related books |
Abraham Cowley at amazon.co.uk |