Post more comments
Want a gift card for being active Forum member? Post comments and win $25 gift card every week.
Rules:
PoemHunter.com will be giving away Amazon.com gift cards (worth $75 in total) every week to first three members ($25 each) who participate most in our forum discussions. You just have to post comments on forum pages, poet pages or poem pages anywhere inside PoemHunter.com
Comments posted needs to be in different pages. Posting more than 1 comment on the same page will only be counted once.
Members can not post comments without being logged in.
PoemHunter.com has the right to cancel or edit this contest.
PoemHunter.com has a right to disqualify or ban member(s) without providing any type of reason, belief or proof in regards to any type of illegal activity or fraud.

Andrew Marvell

(31 March 1621 – 16 August 1678 / Yorkshire, England)

A Dialogue Between Thyrsis And Dorinda


Dorinda
When Death, shall snatch us from these Kids,
And shut up our divided Lids,
Tell me Thyrsis, prethee do,
Whither thou and I must go.

Thyrsis
To the Elizium: (Dorinda) oh where i'st?

Thyrsis
A Chast Soul, can never mis't.

Dorinda
I know no way, but one, our home
Is our Elizium?

Thyrsis
Cast thine Eye to yonder Skie,
There the milky way doth lye;
'Tis a sure but rugged way,
That leads to Everlasting day.

Dorinda
There Birds may nest, but how can I,
That have no wings and cannot fly.

Thyrsis
Do not sigh (fair Nimph) for fire
Hath no wings, yet doth aspire
Till it hit, against the pole,
Heaven's the Center of the Soul.

Dorinda
But in Elizium how do they
Pass Eternity away.

Thyrsis
Ho, ther's, neither hope nor fear
Ther's no Wolf, no Fox, no Bear.
No need of Dog to fetch our stray,
Our Lightfoot we may give away;
And there most sweetly thine Ear
May feast with Musick of the Sphear.
How I my future state
By silent thinking, Antidate:
I preethe let us spend, our time come,
In talking of Elizium.

Thyrsis
Then I'le go on: There, sheep are full
Of softest grass, and softest wooll;
There, birds sing Consorts, garlands grow,
Cold winds do whisper,springs do flow.
There, alwayes is, a rising Sun,
And day is ever, but begun.
Shepheards there, bear equal sway,
And every Nimph's a Queen of May.

Dorinda
Ah me, ah me.

Thyrsis
Dorinda, why do'st Cry?

Dorinda
I'm sick, I'm sick, and fain would dye:
Convinc't me now, that this is true,
By bidding, with mee, all adieu
I cannot live, without thee, I
Will for thee,much more with thee dye.

Dorinda
Then let us give Corellia charge o'th Sheep,
And thou and I'le pick poppies and them steep
In wine, and drink on't even till we weep,
So shall we smoothly pass away in sleep.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: sick, dog, future, fire, sleep, fear, heaven, hope, home, death, sun, spring, wind, rose

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (A Dialogue Between Thyrsis And Dorinda by Andrew Marvell )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Hard words from an open page..., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
  2. Who Put On The News?, John Garth Raubenheimer
  3. In servitude and sea, Elijah o.b Zoff
  4. mermaid, laxami Cards
  5. If, dhia abada
  6. PRAYER OF SALVATION, Colin Ian Jeffery
  7. Sweet Child, Galina Sherkov
  8. Hurt, Galina Sherkov
  9. Neonates in Buckets, Richard Thripp
  10. Cold, Galina Sherkov

Poem of the Day

poet George Gordon Byron

I Speak Not, I Trace...
by George Gordon Byron

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]