Happy Poetry Friday, which just happens to be my birthday too. So I went looking for a birthday poem and found one (albeit a wee bit on the heavy side). I had to share it though since this poet has the same birthday as me!

On My Birthday, July 21

I, MY dear, was born to-day—
So all my jolly comrades say:
They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,
And ask to celebrate my birth:
Little, alas! my comrades know
That I was born to pain and woe;
To thy denial, to thy scorn,
Better I had ne’er been born:
I wish to die, even whilst I say—
‘I, my dear, was born to-day.’
I, my dear, was born to-day:
Shall I salute the rising ray,
Well-spring of all my joy and woe?
Clotilda, thou alone dost know.
Shall the wreath surround my hair?
Or shall the music please my ear?
Shall I my comrades’ mirth receive,
And bless my birth, and wish to live?
Then let me see great Venus chase
Imperious anger from thy face;
Then let me hear thee smiling say—
‘Thou, my dear, wert born to-day.’

Matthew Prior, 1664–1721
Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Someone perhaps not on your normal poetry Friday rounds is desayunoencama Make sure to check out his poem here. And I’m pretty sure kellyrfineman will have a poetry Friday post sometime during the day so don’t forget to look for it.