I think there never was a dearer woman, A better, kinder, truer than you were, A gentler spirit more divinely human Than yours with your sweet melancholy air Of tender gaiety, which seemed like care, And in your voice a sob as of distress At the world's ways, its sin and its despair, Being yourself all strange to wickedness. Now you are neither gentle, kind, nor good, And you have sorrows of your own to grieve, And in your mirth compassion has no mood; You wear no more your heart upon your sleeve, And if your voice still sobs 'tis with a sense Of sorrow's power, grief's wealth, experience. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INDIFFERENCE by GEOFFREY ANKETELL STUDDERT-KENNEDY APPLE-GATHERING by MATHILDE BLIND ELEGY IN NEWGATE by WILLIAM COBBETT A SILVER WONDER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES TO W. S. - ON HIS WONDERFUL TOYS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE FOX HUNT by WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND THE SPANISH CURATE: PROLOGUE by JOHN FLETCHER LORD CORNWALLIS TO SIR HENRY CLINTON, FROM YORK, VIRGINIA by PHILIP FRENEAU |