No state is enviable. To the luck alone Of some few favoured men I would put claim. I bleed, but her who wounds I will not blame. Have I not felt her heart as 'twere my own Beat thro' me? could I hurt her? heaven and hell! But I could hurt her cruelly! Can I let My Love's old time-piece to another set, Swear it can't stop, and must for ever swell? Sure, that's one way Love drifts into the mart Where goat-legged buyers throng. I see not plain: -- My meaning is, it must not be again. Great God! the maddest gambler throws his heart. If any state be enviable on earth, 'Tis yon born idiot's, who, as days go by, Still rubs his hands before him, like a fly, In a queer sort of meditative mirth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLAYING JACKS IN BHAKTAPUR by KAREN SWENSON COWLEY: THE GARDEN by ALEXANDER POPE TO TWO BEREAVED by THOMAS ASHE THE FASHIONS, 1806 by LEWIS BEACH TO THE AUTHOR OF TEUCHSA GRONDIE by LEVI BISHOP SONNETS OF SEVEN CITIES: NEW YORK by BERTON BRALEY |