Oreheus To Woods

Richard Lovelace

Heark!  Oh heark! you guilty trees,
In whose gloomy galleries
Was the cruell'st murder done,
That e're yet eclipst the sunne.
Be then henceforth in your twigges
Blasted, e're you sprout to sprigges;
Feele no season of the yeere,
But what shaves off all your haire,
Nor carve any from your wombes
Ought but coffins and their tombes.

Next 10 Poems

• Richard Lovelace : Out Of The Anthologie
• Richard Lovelace : Paris's Second Judgement, Upon The Three Daughters Of My Dear Brother Mr. R. Caesar.
• Richard Lovelace : Peinture. A Panegyrick To The Best Picture Of Friendship, Mr. Pet. Lilly.
• Richard Lovelace : Pentadii
• Richard Lovelace : Portii Licinii
• Richard Lovelace : Princesse Loysa Drawing
• Richard Lovelace : Quinti Catuli.
• Richard Lovelace : Sanazari Hexasticon
• Richard Lovelace : Senecae Ex Cleanthe
• Richard Lovelace : Sir Thomas Wortley's Sonnet Answered

Previous 10 Poems

• Richard Lovelace : Oreheus To Beasts
• Richard Lovelace : On The Death Of Mrs. Elizabeth Filmer. An Elegiacall Epitaph
• Richard Lovelace : On The Best, Last, And Only Remaning Comedy Of Mr. Fletcher. The Wild Goose Chase
• Richard Lovelace : On Sanazar's Being Honoured With Six Hundred Duckets By The Clarissimi Of Venice, For Composing An Eligiack Hexastick Of The City. A Satyer
• Richard Lovelace : Ode
• Richard Lovelace : Night. To Lucasta
• Richard Lovelace : Missing Title : Skey: La Bella Bona
• Richard Lovelace : Mart. Lib. I. Epi. 14.
• Richard Lovelace : Mart. Epi. Xliii. Lib. I.
• Richard Lovelace : Mart. Ep. Xv. Lib. 6.