I might (unhappy word), O me, I might, And then would not, or could not, see my bliss: Till now, wrapped in a most infernal night, I find how heavenly day, wretch, I did miss. Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right; No lovely Paris made thy Helen his; No force, no fraud, robbed thee of thy delight; Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is; But to myself myself did give the blow, While too much wit (forsooth) so troubled me That I respects for both our sakes must show: And yet could not by rising morn foresee How fair a day was near. O punished eyes, That I had been more foolish, or more wise! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CEREMONIES FOR CANDLEMASSE EVE by ROBERT HERRICK ASSAULT by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE VICAR by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED NEW YEAR'S EVE by GEORGE ARNOLD THE TIMELY MEMENTO by PHILIP AYRES COME UP HIGHER by MINNIE KEITH BAILEY THE KNITTING by MARGARET BARBER |