WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;
MYRA, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night.
Yet, why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had MYRA followed my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.
A Sonnet
Oliver Goldsmith
(1)
Poem topics: beauty, fear, lost, night, long, perfection, bright, tear, delight, direction, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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