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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455645" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Rinaldo to Laura Maria</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THOU! whose sublime poetic art <br>Can pierce the pulses of the heart, <br>Can force the treasur'd tear to flow <br>In prodigality of woe; <br>Or lure each jocund bliss to birth <br>Amid the sportive bow'rs of mirth: <br>LAURA DIVINE! I call thee now <br>To yonder promontory's brow <br>That props the skies; while at its feet <br>With fruitless ire the billows beat, <br>There let my fainting sense behold <br>Those sapphire orbs their heaven unfold, <br>While from thy lips vermilion bow <br>Sweet melody her shafts shall throw <br>Yet do not, do not yield delight, <br>Nor with dear visions bless my sight. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Grant me despair, thou mightiest Muse! <br>O'er the vast scene thy spells diffuse, <br>And with a mad terrific strain <br>Conjure up demons from the main: <br>Storms upon storms indignant heap, <br>Bid Ocean howl, and Nature weep; <br>'Till the Creator blush to see <br>How horrible His World can be; <br>While I will glory to blaspheme, <br>And make the joys of hell my theme. <br>Hah! check this frenzy, spare my soul, <br>O'er my parch'd cheek soft sorrows roll, <br>Subdue this vain impassion'd rage, <br>An atom's energies assuage; <br>Nor let a mortal wretch presume <br>To invocate so dire a doom. <br>What tho' the EAGLE sits forlorn <br>And swoln and sad awaits the morn, <br>When he may wave his golden wing,<br>From Night's detested gloom to spring, <br>And with the Sun's advancement fly, <br>In full meridian blaze to die: <br>Yet shall the chirping FINCH decay, <br>Upon the hedgerow's wither'd spray, <br>Ere the first beam of light is found, <br>And drop unnotic'd to the ground. <br>So I alas! shall never see <br>The dawn of hope awake for me, <br>Still as I turn, new storms appear, <br>And darker lours this mental sphere. <br>Ah, who shall one short comfort give, <br>Or teach my struggling thought to live; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What hand my bleeding bosom bind, <br>What MOSELEY medicate my mind? <br>What Star disperse the thick'ning shade, <br>That bids my restless Being fade?<br>Yet I have seen the Lord of Day <br>Dart from his car the burning ray, <br>And rush a hero to the fight, <br>Across the pendant plains of light: <br>I've seen the bashful Moon aspire <br>To bind her brow with mimic fire, <br>And o'er the calm translucent air <br>Diffusive shake her silver hair. <br>I've paus'd enraptur'd at the tone <br>That from the Evening Copse is thrown <br>By the wild Poet of the glade, <br>Who rests his wing beneath the shade, <br>And I have prov'd th' unequal bliss <br>That burns upon the crimson kiss, <br>When true adoring souls unite <br>To perish in the proud delight. <br>These now are lost to meI stand <br>Alone in ev'ry peopled land, <br>No pleasure now my cold heart cheers, <br>The future points a vale of tears <br>Love rends my name from his bright page, <br>And yields it to approaching age <br>Then lead me, LAURA! to the bow'r <br>Where sadly droops each with'ring flow'r, <br>Where pois'nous shrubs disease exhale, <br>And fev'rish vapours load the gale; <br>There sink me to the sordid grief <br>That meanly supplicates relief; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There tell me I am most despis'd, <br>E'en by thyself, whom most I priz'd, <br>So shall I gladly welcome fate, <br>And perish in thy perfect hate: <br>So shall I better bear th' eternal pain, <br>Never to see thy Form, or hear thy Voice again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Darby+Robinson">Mary Darby Robinson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455645" data-title="Rinaldo to Laura Maria de Mary Darby Robinson" data-description="THOU! whose sublime poetic art 
Can pierce the pulses of the heart, 
Can force the treasur'd tear to flow 
In prodigality of woe; 
Or lure each jocund bliss to birth 
Amid the sportive bow'rs of mirth: 
LAURA DIVINE! I call thee now 
To yonder pro..."></div>
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