Is it this weary and most constant heart, Or only these unquiet nerves, that start And tremble if I do but think of you? I know not, but I would to God I knew. Had I not once a half-delicious grief, When I believed in you against belief? But now, when I must doubt your word, your kiss, When each remembered rapture murmurs "This Was when she lied, and this was when she lied," Yet even doubt is by some doubt denied; Now, when the madness comes down like a flood, Poisoning the honest currents of my blood, Is it desire, love, or this madness, most That aches in me, to know that you are lost? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN OLD WOMAN: 2. HARVEST by EDITH SITWELL THE LION'S RIDE by FERDINAND FREILIGRATH HIS PRAYER TO BEN JONSON by ROBERT HERRICK ITALIA, IO TI SALUTO!' by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 21. REQUIEM by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |