WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;
MYRA, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night.
Yet, why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had MYRA followed my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.
Oliver Goldsmith's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (A Sonnet by Oliver Goldsmith )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
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