At most mischief I suffer grief; For of relief Since I have none, My lute and I Continually Shall us apply To sigh and moan. Nought may prevail To weep or wail; Pity doth fail In you, alas! Mourning or moan, Complaint or none, It is all one, As in this case. For cruelty That most can be Hath sovereignty Within your heart; Which maketh bare All my welfare: Nought do ye care How sore I smart. No tiger's heart Is so pervert, Without desert To wreak his ire; And you me kill For my goodwill: Lo, how I spill For my desire! There is no love That can ye move, And I can prove None other way; Therefore I must Restrain my lust, Banish my trust And wealth away. Thus in mischief I suffer grief, For of relief Since I have none, My lute and I Continually Shall us apply To sigh and moan. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO ETHIOPIA by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE BUBBLE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM TO HELEN KELLER by FRANCES BEEBE THE COUNTRY CHURCH by ELIZABETH BOGART JOSEPH'S REFORM (A TALE OF THE HOT DOG TAVERN) by BERTON BRALEY THE TWO WAITINGS by JOHN WHITE CHADWICK A PRIEST'S PRAYER by MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON |