WHAT have I left to do but die, Since Hope, my old companion, That train'd me from my infancy, My friend, my comforter is gone? Oh fawning, false, deceiving friend! Accursed be thy flatteries, Which treacherously did intend I should be wretched to be wise: And so I am; for being taught To know thy guiles, have only wrought My greater misery and pain; My misery is yet so great, That, though I have found out the cheat, I wish for thee again in vain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CALIFORNIA CHRISTMAS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER ELECTRIC LIGHT-VERSE by L. ALLEN BECK RAINY SEASON by HARRIET GRAY BLACKWELL THE MERMAIDEN by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON AN AUTUMN IDYLL by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON ON BEING DEAF by NAN FITZ-PATRICK |