OF all the torments, all the cares, With which our lives are curst; Of all the plagues a lover bears, Sure rivals are the worst! By partners in each other kind, Afflictions easier grow; In love alone we hate to find Companions of our woe. Sylvia, for all the pangs you see Are laboring in my breast, I beg not you would favor me; -- Would you but slight the rest! How great soe'er your rigors are, With them alone I'll cope; I can endure my own despair, But not another's hope. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN by ROBERT JONES BURDETTE DEVIL'S GOLD (A HAMPTON LEGEND) by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 11 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING GAYHEART, A STORY OF DEFEAT by DANA BURNET THE POET AND THE FLY: 2 by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |