'Twas thee, Azile, of whose loves I sang, 'Tween thee and me among the gentle Gothes, Something it was when all the valleys rang Too true, the breach of thy beplighted oaths. I little thought my willing warbling quill, With her shrill notes, did miss to sing the truth: But now I find through too dear-gotten skill, Thou art despiser of my blooming youth; What there I said, how much thy soul relied Upon thy faith, these poems say I lied. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OTHER SIDE OF A MIRROR by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE ON COMMUNISTS; EPIGRAM by EBENEZER ELLIOTT TACT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE END OF THE DAY by DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT SONNET: HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AN EVENING PROSPECT by ANN ELIZA BLEECKER |