I think there never was a dearer woman, A better, kinder, truer than you were, A gentler spirit more divinely human Than yours with your sweet melancholy air Of tender gaiety, which seemed like care, And in your voice a sob as of distress At the world's ways, its sin and its despair, Being yourself all strange to wickedness. Now you are neither gentle, kind, nor good, And you have sorrows of your own to grieve, And in your mirth compassion has no mood; You wear no more your heart upon your sleeve, And if your voice still sobs 'tis with a sense Of sorrow's power, grief's wealth, experience. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DON JUAN: CANTO 1 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE MAHOGANY TREE by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY THE OLD VAGABOND by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER ISAIAH: FIFTY-SECOND CHAPTER by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE NEW PROSERPINE by MATHILDE BLIND A.G.A.V. by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE FLYING SQUIRREL by MARY E. BURT SIDNEY'S ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: CANTO QUARTO by THOMAS CAMPION |