Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow call no time that's gone:
Violets pluck'd the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see.
Joys as winge'd dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no more.
John Fletcher
Popular Posts
-
From Robert W. Service Home Page: All works by Robert Service are in the Public Domain; They Are Not Owned by and so Cannot be ... -
Here's a collection of daughter quotes to gently remind yourself, and her; of how precious your daughter RE... -
A Canadian If the white race were not racist; but, even more importantly; if those who are wholly or even partially of the black race,... -
Interestingly, starting with what are probably his two shortest commercially published poems, (The Sunshine Seeks my Little Ro... -
From Robert W. Service Home Page: All works by Robert Service are in the Public Domain; They Are Not Owned by and so Cannot be At...
-
Chorus-Bannocks o' bear meal, Bannocks o' barley, Here's to the Highlandman's Bannocks o' barley! Wha, in a bruly...
-
I have observed that there are several websites FALSELY claiming ownership of this article; but, of course, since the original author i... -
IN CANADA From shadows of rich oaks outpeer The moss-green bastions of the weir, Where the quick dipper forages In elver-people... -
In memory of Robert (Sandy-Sandy-Man) Girvan, my son. A Dad Hurts Too People don’t always see the tears a DAD cries, His ... -
BERLIN --The Christmas truce of the Great War in 1914 was started by a "peace movement" of German soldiers who won over ...
No comments:
Post a Comment