Oh, then I love, and draw this weary breath For her, the cruel fair, within whose brow I written find the sentence of my death In unkind letters, wrought she cares not how. O thou that rul'st the confines of the night, Laughter-loving goddess, worldly pleasure's queen, Intenerate that heart that sets so light The truest love that ever yet was seen; And cause her leave to triumph in this wise Upon the prostrate spoil of that poor heart That serves a trophy to her conqu'ring eyes, And must their glory to the world impart. Once let her know sh' hath done enough to prove me, And let her pity, if she cannot love me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SA-CA-GA-WE-A; THE INDIAN GIRL WHO GUIDED LEWIS AND CLARK by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR YOU LINGERING SPARSE LEAVES OF ME by WALT WHITMAN ON PLOUGHING by EVELYN D. BANGAY CLOUDS by EDUARD VON BAUERNFELD THE FOUR ZOAS: NIGHTS THE FIFTH AND SIXTH by WILLIAM BLAKE |