Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| 450. Monody on a Lady, famed for her Caprice |
| | | | | On a lady famed for her Caprice. |
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| HOW cold is that bosom which folly once fired, | |
| How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten’d; | |
| How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, | |
| How dull is that ear which to flatt’ry so listen’d! | |
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| If sorrow and anguish their exit await, | 5 |
| From friendship and dearest affection remov’d; | |
| How doubly severer, Maria, thy fate, | |
| Thou diedst unwept, as thou livedst unlov’d. | |
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| Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you; | |
| So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear: | 10 |
| But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, | |
| And flowers let us cull for Maria’s cold bier. | |
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| We’ll search through the garden for each silly flower, | |
| We’ll roam thro’ the forest for each idle weed; | |
| But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, | 15 |
| For none e’er approach’d her but rued the rash deed. | |
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| We’ll sculpture the marble, we’ll measure the lay; | |
| Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre; | |
| There keen Indignation shall dart on his prey, | |
| Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire. | 20 |
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