And there reward thy inhumanity; Unkind Azile, rapt in liquid charms, Thou canst not with an unstain'd conscience die, Unless thou dost give period to my harms. Is it thy wealth that makes thee thus refrain me? As it is thine, so shall it still be thine. Is it thy birth that makes thee thus disdain me? O scorn me not, I come of noble line, For by the Norman Duke our brows were crown'd With laurel branches, and our names renown'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ANDRE by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES THE DEAD OF THE WILDERNESS by CHAIM NACHMAN BIALIK |