Stella oft sees the very face of woe Painted in my beclouded stormy face; But cannot skill to pity my disgrace, Not though thereof the cause herself she know; Yet hearing late a fable, which did show Of lovers never known a grievous case, Pity thereof gat in her breast such place That, from that sea derived, tears' springs did flow. Alas, if fancy drawn by imaged things, Though false, yet with free scope more grace doth breed Than servant's wrack, where new doubts honours brings; Then think, my dear, that you in me do read Of lover's ruin some sad tragedy: I am not I, pity the tale of me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MOTHER'S LOVE by THOMAS BURBIDGE A BALLADE OF SUICIDE by GILBERT KEITH CHESTERTON LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN by JOHN KEATS GREAT BELL ROLAND; SUGGESTED BY PRESIDENT'S CALL VOLUNTEERS by THEODORE TILTON |