Great, good, and just! could I but rate
My griefs to thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep the world to such a strain,
As it would deluge once again:
But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies,
More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes,
I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds,
And write thy epitaph with blood and wounds.
Lines Written On Hearing Of The Death Of Charles I.
James Graham
(1)
Poem topics: fate, world, good, great, write, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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