O Might those sighes and teares returne againe Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent, That I might in this holy discontent Mourne with some fruit, as I have mourn'd in vaine; In mine Idolatry what showres of raine Mine eyes did waste? what griefs my heart did rent? That sufferance was my sinne; now I repent; 'Cause I did suffer I must suffer paine. Th'hydroptique drunkard, and night-scouting thiefe, The itchy Lecher, and selfe tickling proud Have the remembrance of past joyes, for reliefe Of comming ills. To (poore) me is allow'd No ease; for, long, yet vehement griefe hath beene Th'effect and cause, the punishment and sinne. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER'S LOVE by THOMAS BURBIDGE A WIFE IN LONDON by THOMAS HARDY RECESSIONAL by RUDYARD KIPLING THE MAID'S LAMENT; ELIZABETHAN by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR FOR [OR TO] THOSE WHO FAIL by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER HARMONIES OF THE EVENING by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE LAST MAN: A DREAM by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE COMING OF THE SNOW by MARION L. BERTRAND THE FOURE MONARCHIES: ASSYRIAN. SEMIRAMIS by ANNE BRADSTREET |