They say, that Pity in Love's service dwells, A porter at the rosy temple's gate. I missed him going: but it is my fate To come upon him now beside his wells; Whereby I know that I Love's temple leave, And that the purple doors have closed behind. Poor soul! if, in those early days unkind, Thy power to sting had been but power to grieve, We now might with an equal spirit meet, And not be matched like innocence and vice. She for the Temple's worship has paid price, And takes the coin of Pity as a cheat. She sees through simulation to the bone: What's best in her impels her to the worst: Never, she cries, shall Pity soothe Love's thirst, Or foul hypocrisy for truth atone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEXTER GORDON: COPENHAGEN/AVERY FISHER HALL by KAREN SWENSON SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 2. IN CHURCH by THOMAS HARDY TO LUCASTA, [ON] GOING TO THE WARS by RICHARD LOVELACE NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 16 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SONGS OF THE SEA CHILDREN: 119 by BLISS CARMAN THE DUKE OF BYRON IS CONDEMNED TO DEATH by GEORGE CHAPMAN (1559-1634) |