O EVER true and comfortable mate, For whom my love outwore the fleeting red Of my young cheeks, nor did one jot abate, I pray thee now, as by a dying bed, Wait yet a little longer! Hear me tell How much my will transcends my feeble powers: As one with blind eyes feeling out in flowers Their tender hues, or, with no skill to spell His poor, poor name, but only makes his mark, And guesses at the sunshine in the dark, So I have been. A sense of things divine Lying broad above the little things I knew, The while I made my poems for a sign Of the great melodies I felt were true. Pray thee accept my sad apology, Sweet master, mending, as we go along, My homely fortunes with a thread of song, That all my years harmoniously may run; Less by the tasks accomplished judging me, Than by the better things I would have done. I would not lose thy gracious company Out of my house and heart for all the good Besides, that ever comes to womanhood, -- And this is much: I know what I resign, But at that great price I would have thee mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WASHING-DAY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE LEAPING POLL by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. ADVICE TO THE STOUT by JOHN ARMSTRONG COMPLAINS, BEING HIND'RED THE SIGHT OF HIS NYMPH by PHILIP AYRES GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 9 by RICHARD BARNFIELD PSALM 137 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE PSALM 41. BEATUS QUI INTELLIGIT by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |