I SHE sighs as if she would restore The life she took away before; As if she did recant my doom, And sweetly would reprieve me home: Such hope to one condemn'd appears From every whisper that he hears; But what do such vain hopes avail, If those sweet sighs compose a gale, To drive me hence, and swell my sail? II See, see, she weeps! who would not swear That love descended in that tear, Boasting him of his wounded prize Thus in the bleeding of her eyes? Or that those tears with just pretence Would quench the fire that came from thence? But oh! they are (which strikes me dead) Crystal her frozen heart has bred, Neither in love nor pity shed. III Thus of my merit jealous grown, My happiness I dare not own, But wretchedly her favours wear, Blind to myself, unjust to her Whose sighs and tears at least discover She pities, if not loves her lover: And more betrays the tyrant's skill, Than any blemish in her will, That thus laments whom she doth kill. IV Pity still (Sweet) my dying state, My flame may sure pretend to that, Since it was only unto thee I gave my life and liberty; Howe'er my life's misfortune's laid, By love I'm pity's object made. Pity me then, and if thou hear I'm dead, drop such another tear, And I am paid my full arrear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STAR-TALK by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES TO HIS MISTRESS by ROBERT HERRICK MESSMATES by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ by ALFRED TENNYSON SIR GALAHAD by ALFRED TENNYSON BUILDING BLOCKS by VIRGINIA A. ALLIN MISAPPELLATION by STEPHANIE L. BINCKLI NIGHT AND MORNING SONGS: 9. A MAD MAID'S SONG by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |