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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE BAD SEASON MAKES THE POET SAD, by ROBERT HERRICK Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Dull to my selfe, and almost dead to these Last Line: Knock at a starre with my exalted head. Subject(s): Grief; Sorrow; Sadness | |||
Dull to my selfe, and almost dead to these My many fresh and fragrant Mistresses: Lost to all Musick now; since every thing Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing. Sick is the Land to'th' heart; and doth endure More dangerous faintings by her desp'rate cure. But if that golden Age wo'd come again, And Charles here Rule, as he before did Raign; If smooth and unperplext the Seasons were, As when the Sweet Maria lived here: I sho'd delight to have my Curles halfe drown'd In Tyrian Dewes, and Head with Roses crown'd. And once more yet (ere I am laid out dead) Knock at a Starre with my exalted Head. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONOMA FIRE by JANE HIRSHFIELD AS THE SPARKS FLY UPWARDS by JOHN HOLLANDER WHAT GREAT GRIEF HAS MADE THE EMPRESS MUTE by JUNE JORDAN CHAMBER MUSIC: 19 by JAMES JOYCE DIRGE AT THE END OF THE WOODS by LEONIE ADAMS A CHRISTMAS CAROL, SUNG TO THE KING IN THE PRESENCE AT WHITEHALL by ROBERT HERRICK A MEDITATION FOR HIS MISTRESS by ROBERT HERRICK A TERNARIE OF LITTLES, UPON A PIPKIN OF JELLIE by ROBERT HERRICK |
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