O miserable sorrow withouten cure, If it please thee, lo, to have me thus suffer, At least yet let her know what I endure, And this my last voice carry thou thither Where lived my hope now dead forever; For as ill grievous is my banishment As was my pleasure when she was present. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARY AND GABRIEL by RUPERT BROOKE THE SICKNESS by CHARLES BUKOWSKI THE WASHERS OF THE SHROUD; OCTOBER, 1861 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE RAINY SUMMER by ALICE MEYNELL MORAL ESSAYS: EPISTLE 4. TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL BURLINGTON by ALEXANDER POPE GRISELDA: CHAPTER 3 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |