IF any hath the heart to kill, Come rid me of this woeful pain! For while I live I suffer still This cruel torment all in vain: Yet none alive but one can guess What is the cause of my distress. Thanks be to heaven, no grievous smart, No maladies my limbs annoy; I bear a fond and sprightful heart, Yet live I quite deprived of joy: Since what I had in vain I crave, And what I had not now I have. A love I had, so fair, so sweet, As ever wanton eye did see: Once by appointment we did meet: She would, but ah, it would not be! She gave her heart, her hand she gave; All did I give, she nought could have. What hag did then my powers forespeak, That never yet such taint did feel! Now she rejects me as one weak, Yet am I all composed of steel. Ah, this is it my heart doth grieve: Now though she sees, she'll not believe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MISSING THE BO IN THE HENHOUSE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE WAR THAT ISN'T WHAT YOU THINK by JAMES GALVIN TO TWO UNKNOWN LADIES by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IMANUEL EHRENHARDT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: PENNIWIT, THE ARTIST by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MIDDLE-AGED; A STUDY IN EMOTION by EZRA POUND |