Sufficed not, madam, that you did tear My woeful heart, but thus also to rent The weeping paper that to you I sent, Whereof each letter was written with a tear. Could not my present pains, alas, suffice Your greedy heart, and that my heart doth feel Torments that prick more sharper than the steel But new and new must to my lot arise? Use then my death. So shall your cruelty, Spite of your spite, rid me from all my smart, And I no more such torments of the heart Feel as I do. This shalt thou gain thereby. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND by PHOEBE CARY SANCTUARY by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY AS THE GREEK'S SIGNAL FLAME by WALT WHITMAN EASTER 1916 by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS CRY WOE, WOE, AND LET THE GOOD PREVAIL, FR. AGAMEMNON by AESCHYLUS I WOULD NOT LIFT THY VEIL by A. LOUISE ASHWORTH |