DISCONSOLATE and sad, So little hope of remedy I find, That when my matchless mistress were inclined To pity me, 'twould scarcely make me glad, The discomposing of so fair a mind B'ing that which would to my afflictions add. For when she should repent This act of charity had made her part With such a precious jewel as her heart, Might she not grieve that ere she did relent? And then were it [not] fit I felt the smart Until I grew the greater penitent? Nor were't a good excuse, When she pleas'd to call for her heart again, To tell her of my suffering and pain, Since that I should her clemency abuse, While she did see what wrong she did sustain In giving what she justly might refuse. Vex'd thus with me at last, When from her kind restraint she now were gone, And I left to the manacles alone, Should I not on another rock be cast, Since they who have not yet content do moan Far less than they whose hope thereof is past? Besides, I would deserve, And not live poorly on the alms of love, Or claim a favour did not singly move From my regard if she her joys reserve Unto some other, she at length should prove, Rather than beg her pity I would starve. Let her then be serene, Alike exempt from pity and from hate; Let her still keep her dignity and state; Yet from her glories something I shall glean, For when she doth them everywhere dilate, A beam or two to me must intervene. And this shall me sustain, For though due merit I cannot express, Yet she shall know none ever lov'd for less Or easier reward: let her remain Still great and good, and from her happiness My chief contentment I will entertain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET TO GEORGE SAND: 1. A RECOGNITION by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE BATTLE-FIELD by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT GROWING OLD by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE PICCIOLA by ROBERT HENRY NEWELL INSPIRATION (2) by HENRY DAVID THOREAU |