THE long, stripped days, the nights void of a kiss, The streets wherein not any step I take Brings sound or sight of you, though my heart break, Yea, the round year -- were not my trouble this, It would be yours, beloved; one must miss Honey for gall, and one go unbereft; One must be taken and the other left: I praise God that my bitter is your bliss. Out of this thought, as out some reed apace, I draw a faltering music for relief, Yet sweet enough to make, from door to door, My empty house a habitable place. My tears break off: I will have naught of grief, For I remember you do weep no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM by ALEXANDER POPE TO GERMANY by CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY A FRAGMENT FROM THE AGAMEMNON OF AESCHYLOS by AESCHYLUS ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT OF FIVE DAYS OLD by ELIZABETH BOYD FIDO: AN EPISTLE TO FIDELIA by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |