WHAT needs complaints, When she a place Has with the race Of saints? In endless mirth She thinks not on What 's said or done In Earth. She sees no tears, Or any tone Of thy deep groan She hears: Nor does she mind Or think on 't now That ever thou Wast kind; But changed above, She likes not there, As she did here, Thy love. Forbear therefore, And lull asleep Thy woes, and weep No more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BROKEN PITCHER by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE LITTLE GIRL LOST, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS; OR, NATURAL THEOLOGY IN THE ISLAND by ROBERT BROWNING THE SUN GOD by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE THE LOST JEWEL by EMILY DICKINSON TO A DOG'S MEMORY by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY |