LET the rich man fill his belly; Let him fast that has no bread; And he may sleep in the moon light That cannot find a bed. If the sea were one great ink-pot And the sky of paper made, The evil that's in women Could not all be said. If the sea were one great ink-pot And of paper all the sky, It were not enough for telling, How deeply men can lie. To love with no return Is a sad thing to befall; But a sadder, to come to die Before having loved at all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WILDERNESS TRANSFORMED by PHILIP DODDRIDGE QUATRAIN: FATE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON RETREAT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON MADRIGAL: 109 by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI MNEMOSYNE by TRUMBULL STICKNEY ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 1: 16. PERSUASION by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |