I TELL thee death were far more merciful Than such a blow. It is death to the heart; Death to its first affections, its sweet hopes; The young religion of its guileless faith. Henceforth the well is troubled at the spring; The waves run clear no longer; there is doubt To shut out happiness -- perpetual shade; Which, if the sunshine penetrate, 'tis dim, And broken ere it reach the stream below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON SOME LINES OF LOPE DE VEGA by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) ANIMAL CRACKERS by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY THE SMACK IN SCHOOL by WILLIAM PITT PALMER VARIATIONS ON A THEME by ALFRED GOLDSWORTHY BAILEY MON REPOS (MY MOTHER'S GIRLHOOD HOME) by ALFRED BARRETT NOT YE WHO GOAD by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 50. FAREWELL TO JULIET (12) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |