To Her Grace The Dutchess Of Manchester, And Lady Diana Spencer - Poem by Mary Barber
Madam, I hear, and hear with Sorrow,
That we're to lose Your Grace To--morrow;
Nor you alone, but Lady Di.
Where, thus deserted, shall I fly?
Am I condemn'd to live in Pain,
Till distant Autumn comes again?
Till Time, in Pity to my Grief,
Shall bring you back to my Relief?
Do not, relentless, let me moan;
O take me, Ladies, as your own!
Tho' Thousands have your Rigour felt,
Let me your lovely Bosoms melt:
Since you to win my Heart have deign'd,
Quit not the Conquest you have gain'd:
Nor Marlbro's glorious Footsteps shun;
He always kept the Field he won.
Comments about To Her Grace The Dutchess Of Manchester, And Lady Diana Spencer by Mary Barber
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye