Look in my griefs, and blame me not to mourn, From care to care that leads a life so bad; Th' orphan of fortune, born to be her scorn Whose clouded brow doth make my days so sad. Long are their nights whose cares do never sleep, Loathsome their days whom no sun ever joyed; Her fairest eyes do penetrate so deep That thus I live both day and night annoyed. But since the sweetest root doth yield thus much, Her praise from my complaint I may not part; I love th' effect for that the cause is such, I'll praise her face, and blame her flinty heart; Whilst that we make the world admire at us, Her for disdain, and me for loving thus. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY ORCHA'D IN LINDEN LEA by WILLIAM BARNES THE GIRL OF CADIZ by GEORGE GORDON BYRON VISION OF BELSHAZZAR by GEORGE GORDON BYRON RONDEAU by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT THE HEART KNOWETH ITS OWN BITTERNESS' (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI PLACES: 2. FULL MOON (SANTA BARBARA) by SARA TEASDALE THE WINDOW; OR, THE SONG OF THE WRENS: MARRIAGE MORNING by ALFRED TENNYSON |