I had a friend, but he Was no true friend to me; A wound he was, that tore My heart, and pained me sore. He gloated to espy Me slip, then like a fly He swooped, rejoiced to sting My ulcer festering. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THREE GATES [OF GOLD] by ELIZABETH DAYTON BARNEY'S INVITATION by PHILIP FRENEAU A WIFE IN LONDON by THOMAS HARDY THE CONFIDENT SCIENTIST by ALEXIS LETHE. A BALLAD by JAMES HAY BEATTIE |