THERE'S a hurt in the heart of the night, There's an ache where a song should be, At the core of the dawn is blight — For you have forgotten me. O the weight of the dragging morn When my sorrow lifts its head — O the curse of a day still-born With my soul's wound running red! O hours that are bitten through With the wormwood of memory — When my sore heart calls for you — Though yours has forgotten me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOMETIME by MAY LOUISE RILEY SMITH DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: THE SLIGHT AND DEGENERATE NATURE OF MAN by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN by MATHILDE BLIND FIFTY YEARS SPENT by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 2. THE FAMILY OF LOVE by GEORGE CRABBE |