DIE not before thy day, poor man condemned, But lift thy low looks from the humble earth, Kiss not despair, and see sweet hope contemned: The hag hath no delight, but moan for mirth, Fie, poor fondling, be thou willing To preserve thyself from killing: Hope thy keeper glad to free thee Bids thee go, and will not see thee Hie thee quickly from thy wrong— So she ends her willing song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ONLY A WOMAN by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK TO WORDSWORTH by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE YOUNG MAY MOON by THOMAS MOORE SONNET TO ZOE KING by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES P. C., X, 36 by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM THE FLAME-BRIDE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |