MY thoughts hold mortal strife;
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries
Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise:
—But he, grim-grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.
About the poet |
William Drummond |
By the same poet |
Madrigal |
Invocation |
Spring Bereaved 1 |
Spring Bereaved 2 |
Spring Bereaved 3 |
Her Passing |
Change should breed Change |
Saint John Baptist |
Related books |
William Drummond at amazon.co.uk |