O, what undeserved cruelty Hath Fortune showed unto me When all my wealth, joy, and felicity Are turned to me most contrary! My joy is woe, my pleasure pain, My ease is travail. What remedy? My mirth is mourning, hope is in vain. Thus all thing turneth clean contrary. The place of sleep that should my rest restore Is unto me an unquiet enemy And most my woe reneweth evermore. Thus all thing turneth to me contrary. I burn for cold, I starve for heat. That lust liketh, desire doth it deny. I fast from joy, sorrow is my meat. Thus every joy turneth to me contrary. The place of my refuge is my exile. In Disdain's prison desperate I lie, There to abide the time and woeful while Till my careful life may turn contrary. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER by THOMAS HOOD THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAUN [OR, FAWN] by ANDREW MARVELL ADLESTROP by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE BARD'S EXCUSE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS LOVE IN ARMOR by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |