Fidele FEAR no more the heat o the sun, Nor the furious winters rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and taen thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o the great, Thou art past the tyrants stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. .......... poemhunter/poem/fidele/
Posted on: Mon, 20 Jan 2014 05:00:00 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015