Poem by Aphra Behn

The Regret

Alas! and must the Sun decline,
    Before it have inform'd my Eyes
Of all that's glorious, all that's fine,
    Of all I sigh for, all I prize?
How joyful were those happy Days,
When Iris spread her charming Rays,
Did my unwearied Heart inspire
With never-ceasing awful Fire,
And e'ery Minute gave me new Desire!
But now, alas! all dead and pale,
    Like Flow'rs that wither in the Shade:
Where no kind Sun-beams can prevail,
    To raise its cold and fading Head,
    I sink into my useless Bed.
I grasp the senseless Pillow as I lie;
A thousand times, in vain, I sighing cry,
    Ah! wou'd to Heaven my Iris were as nigh.

1. To the Fair Clarinda
2. Song (Cease, cease, Aminta, to complain)
3. On the Death of the Late Earl of Rochester
4. The Willing Mistriss
5. Amintas That True-Hearted Swain

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