It may be good, like it who list, But I do doubt who can me blame: For oft assured, yet have I mist, And now again I fear the same. The windy words, the eyes' quaint game, Of sudden change make me aghast: For dread to fall I stand not fast. Alas, I tread an endless maze That seek to accord two contraries: And hope still and nothing hase Imprisoned in liberties. As one unheard, and still that cries; Always thirsty, and yet nothing I taste; For dread to fall I stand not fast. Assured, I doubt I be not sure; And should I trust to such surety, That oft hath put the proof in ure And never hath found it trusty? Nay, sir, in faith it were great folly. And yet my life thus I do waste: For dread to fall I stand not fast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO KNOW IN REVERIE THE ONLY PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE ABSOLUTE by HAYDEN CARRUTH RECOMPENSE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IRELAND; WRITTEN FOR THE ART AUTOGRAPH DURING IRISH FAMINE by SIDNEY LANIER NIGHT AND DAY: 3 by ISAAC ROSENBERG AN AMERICAN IN BANGKOK by KAREN SWENSON HUFFMAN'S PHOTOGRAPH OF THE GRAVES OF THE UNKNOWN AT LITTLE BIGHORN by KAREN SWENSON |