22.07.2007, 13:19
To hear my plaints, fair river crystalline,
Thou in a silent slumber seems to stay;
Delicious flow'rs, lily and columbine,
Ye bow your heads when I my woes display;
Forests, in you the myrtle, palm, and bay,
Have had compassion list'ning to my groans;
The winds with sighs have solemniz'd my moans
'Mong leaves, which whispered what they could not say;
The caves, the rocks, the hills, the Sylvans' thrones,
(As if even pity did in them appear)
Have at my sorrows rent their ruthless stones;
Each thing I find hath sense except my dear,
Who doth not think I love, or will not know
My grief, perchance delighting in my woe.
Thou in a silent slumber seems to stay;
Delicious flow'rs, lily and columbine,
Ye bow your heads when I my woes display;
Forests, in you the myrtle, palm, and bay,
Have had compassion list'ning to my groans;
The winds with sighs have solemniz'd my moans
'Mong leaves, which whispered what they could not say;
The caves, the rocks, the hills, the Sylvans' thrones,
(As if even pity did in them appear)
Have at my sorrows rent their ruthless stones;
Each thing I find hath sense except my dear,
Who doth not think I love, or will not know
My grief, perchance delighting in my woe.