Mourne Muses, mourne, your greatest gallant dyes,
Who free in state did court your sacred traine,
Your Minion Murray, Albiones sweetest swaine,
Who soar’d so high, now sore neglected lyes.
If of true worth the world had right esteemd
His loftie thoughts what bounds could haue confind?
But Fortune feard to match with such a mind,
Where all his due, and not her gift had seemd.
Faire Nymphes whose brood doth stand with Tyme at stryf,
Dare Death presume heauens darelings thus to daunt?
To flattering fancies then in vaine you vaunt
That you for euer will prolong a lyf.
He gracd your band, and not your bayes his brow:
You happie were in him, he not by you.

—————

The End

And that’s the End of the Poem

© Poetry Monster, 2021.

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Some external links: The Bat’s Poetry Cave. — Fledermaus’s poetry site. Talking Writing Monster. — the irreverent and irrelevant chatter on subjects both serious and not quite. A free for all board. You can scribble anything on it without registration (but it doesn’t let spammers in). You can even post your poems. Qwant.com. — a search engine from France. It’s an alternative because there are a few alternatives, like Bing, Duckduckgo, and Ecosia. And there is Yandex, the ultimate language-oriented search engine for the Russophone world. Commercial Links: Russian Commerce – the foreign trade assistance agency Other links: Poems and poetry in Russian (if you are reading this in English, as you obviously are, then you’d have to switch the language, the language switch is on the menu. More on languages)