THE heart aye follows her, my eyes regret, My body grieves, my mind is on her set; She who of all perfections is the flower, I shed unceasing tears at every hour, In secret thoughts, which never can forget. All for her presence mourn, and long, and fret, And many deeply blame their cruel state; Of many lords she filled ne'er thence to part The heart. She from our longing eyes is snatched by fate, Nursing her beauty needs must grief create, But of two goods 'tis fit to share the best, And ne'er oblivion on her worth shall rest; The faithful heart, where'er she wanders, yet Aye follows her. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN JANUARY by GORDON BOTTOMLEY GERANIUMS by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON ULTIMA THULE: MY CATHEDRAL by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNET: 12 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE PUMPKIN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 92. AL-ZARR by EDWIN ARNOLD |