PINED I am and like to die, And all for lack of that which I Do every day refuse. If I musing sit or stand, Some puts it daily in my hand, To interrupt my muse: The same thing I seek and fly, And want that which none would deny. In my bed, when I should rest, It breeds such trouble in my breast That scarce mine eyes will close; If I sleep it seems to be Oft playing in the bed with me, But, waked, away it goes. 'Tis some spirit sure, I ween, And yet it may be felt and seen. Would I had the heart and wit To make it stand and conjure it, That haunts me thus with fear. Doubtless 'tis some harmless sprite, For it by day as well as night Is ready to appear. Be it friend, or be it foe, Ere long I'll try what it will do. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUR HANDS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE CHANGE by WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS THE TWO VOICES by ALFRED TENNYSON FIDELIA: 4. THE AUTHOR'S RESOLUTION IN A SONNET by GEORGE WITHER MY DEAREST WIFE by WILLIAM BARNES THE LONG TRUCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN FO'C'S'LE YARNS: 1ST SERIES. DEDICATION by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |