THERE'S a hurt in the heart of the night, There's an ache where a song should be, At the core of the dawn is blight — For you have forgotten me. O the weight of the dragging morn When my sorrow lifts its head — O the curse of a day still-born With my soul's wound running red! O hours that are bitten through With the wormwood of memory — When my sore heart calls for you — Though yours has forgotten me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EIGHTEEN-DOLLAR TAXI TRIP TO TIZAPAN AND BACK TO CHAPALA by CLARENCE MAJOR IT COULDN'T BE DONE by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST DEWEY AT MANILA [MAY 1, 1898] by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH by WALT WHITMAN |