Ah, cruell Love! must I endure Thy many scorns, and find no cure? Say, are thy medicines made to be Helps to all others, but to me? Ile leave thee, and to Pansies come; Comforts you'l afford me some: You can ease my heart, and doe What Love co'd ne'r be brought unto. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MAGRADY GRAHAM by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BEAUTY'S ARMOURY by AL-HADRAMI THE MARCH OF XERXES by LUIGI ALAMANNI SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 4. SHE REMEMBERS by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS ON VENUS ARISING FROM THE SEA by ANTIPATER OF SIDON FABLE: 16 by ANTOINE VINCENT ARNAULT |