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Poem by Mary Robinson
CESARIO, thy Lyre’s dulcet measure, So sweetly, so tenderly flows; That could my sad soul taste of pleasure, Thy music would soften its woes. But ah, gentle soother, where anguish Takes root in the grief-stricken heart; ’Tis the triumph of sorrow to languish, ’Tis rapture to cherish the smart. The mind where pale Mis’ry sits brooding, Repels the soft touch of repose; Shrinks back when blest Reason intruding, The balm of mild comfort bestows. There is luxury oft in declining, What pity’s kind motives impart; And to bear hapless fate, unrepining, Is the proudest delight of the heart. Still, still shall thy Lyre’s gentle measure, In strains of pure melody flow; While each heart beats with exquisite pleasure, SAVE MINEthe doom’d VICTIM OF WOE.
Mary Robinson's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org