DEAR object of defeated care! Though now of Love and thee bereft, To reconcile me with despair Thine image and my tears are left. 'T is said with Sorrow Time can cope; But this I feel can ne'er be true; For by the death-blow of my Hope My Memory immortal grew. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PROGRESS OF POETRY; A VARIATION by MATTHEW ARNOLD ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 50 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THADDEUS STEVENS by PHOEBE CARY CITY TREES by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY A FAREWELL TO LONDON IN THE YEAR 1715 by ALEXANDER POPE THE GRAVE OF SHELLEY by OSCAR WILDE THE MAIMED DEBAUCHEE by JOHN WILMOT SOLUTION OF THE CHARADE IN THE MUSEUM FOR OCTOBER by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |