IF any hath the heart to kill, Come rid me of this woeful pain! For while I live I suffer still This cruel torment all in vain: Yet none alive but one can guess What is the cause of my distress. Thanks be to heaven, no grievous smart, No maladies my limbs annoy; I bear a fond and sprightful heart, Yet live I quite deprived of joy: Since what I had in vain I crave, And what I had not now I have. A love I had, so fair, so sweet, As ever wanton eye did see: Once by appointment we did meet: She would, but ah, it would not be! She gave her heart, her hand she gave; All did I give, she nought could have. What hag did then my powers forespeak, That never yet such taint did feel! Now she rejects me as one weak, Yet am I all composed of steel. Ah, this is it my heart doth grieve: Now though she sees, she'll not believe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG FOR THE FIRST OF THE MONTH by DOROTHY PARKER AMERICA: SONNET 2 by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL THE GRAVE OF LOVE by THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK SLEEP AT SEA by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI PRESCIENCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SUMMER APPROACHES by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD |