Epitaph On A Free But Tame Redbreast, A Favourite Of Miss Sally Hurdis.
These are not dewdrops, these are tears, And tears by Sally shed For absent Robin, who she fears, With too much cause, is dead. One morn he came not to her hand As he was wont to come, And, on her finger perchd, to stand Picking his breakfast-crumb. Alarmd, she calld him, and perplexd, She sought him, but in vain That day he came not , nor the next, Nor ever came again. She therefore raised him here a tomb, Though where he fell, or how, None knowsso secret was his doom, Nor where he moulders now. Had half a score of coxcombs died In social Robins stead, Poor Sallys tears had soon been dried, Or haply never shed. But Bob was neither rudely bold Nor spiritlessly tame; Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold, But always in a flame.
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"These are not dewdrops, these are tears,..."
William Cowper's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "Epitaph On A Free But Tame Redbreast, A Favourite Of Miss Sally Hurdis."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...