milton lycidas

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milton lycidas para 1-3

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I come to pick your

Ye once more,

For Lycidas is dead

Young Lycidas

Who would sing for Lycidas?

He must not float

And welter to the parching wind

So may some gentle muse

And as he passes turn

For we wee nurs'd

Together both ere the high lawns appeared

What time the gray-fly

Rough Satyrs danc'd

And old Damoetas

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And bid fair peace to my sable shroud

Under the opening eye-lids of the morn

and Fauns with clov'n heel

lov'd to hear our song

without the meed of some melodious tear

O ye laurels

Upon the self-same hill

Upon his wat'ry bier unwept

and hath not left his peer

He knew himself to sing & build the lofty rhyme

dead ere his prime

winds her sultry horn

berries harsh and crude

with lucky words favour my destined urn


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