WHEN, in a frame of liquid verse, I read you how pure Love's delight Is turned to Life's consummate curse, By woman's pride and hard despite, -- Full many a sympathising chord Vibrated all your soul along; You trembled at each poignant word, And wept ere I had closed the song. But when, in rude and broken prose, I laid my heart before you bare, -- Dared the deep misery to disclose, Which you had long awakened there; A trivial laugh, a pitying look (Yet half of scorn) was all you gave, -- You bent before the lifeless Book, Though loth a living Heart to save. My Art is not a vulgar craft To work some passing Pleasure-spell, -- There is no virtue in the draught For those who desecrate the well: Proud Loveliness! retain your sway, -- Leave me to suffer as I can, But do not seem to love the Lay, And mock the Poet and the Man. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STRAPLESS by KAREN SWENSON THE YOUNG GLASS-STAINER by THOMAS HARDY MARSYAS by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS SUNSET WINGS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE PRELUDE: BOOK 1. CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |