Last night, though I had fifty souls, I had been bankrupt ere the day; And all because this body slight That ill maintained its spirit's light Had made me swear my souls away; Had sent them humming into hell: And all because an ivory mite Was by a nerve-surge pounded, bent, And by fierce lightnings blasted, rent, That made the force of Nature slight. I never heard Love's voice sound harsh, Until it sought to soothe this evil; And when it said -- 'Pray, do not fret: Be patient and -- sure cure -- forget,' I could not help cry out -- 'The Devil!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUR OF DEATH by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE VAGABONDS by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE THE AUTO-DA-FE; A LEGEND OF SPAIN by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM SONG OF THE EARTHLINGS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE FIRST REFORMER by NATHALIA CRANE TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR EDWARD HYDE, EARL OF CLARENDON by JOHN DRYDEN MY GUEST by WILLIAM ARTHUR DUNKERLEY DESCRIPTION OF A NEW ENGLAND COUNTRY DANCE by THOMAS GREEN FESSENDEN |