It chanced his lips did meet her forehead cool. She had no blush, but slanted down her eye. Shamed nature, then, confesses love can die: And most she punishes the tender fool Who will believe what honours her the most! Dead! is it dead? She has a pulse, and flow Of tears, the price of blood-drops, as I know, For whom the midnight sobs around Love's ghost, Since then I heard her, and so will sob on. The love is here; it has but changed its aim. O bitter barren woman! what's the name? The name, the name, the new name thou hast won? Behold me striking the world's coward stroke! That will I not do, though the sting is dire. -- Beneath the surface this, while by the fire They sat, she laughing at a quiet joke. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WILL OF GOD by FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER AN ESSAY TOWARDS A CHARACTER OF HIS SACRED MAJESTY KING JAMES II by PHILIP AYRES THE HAPPY LOVER by PHILIP AYRES THE FABRIC by GAMALIEL BRADFORD MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE EAVES by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH TRUST YOU MUST by JULIUS C BRUTTO |