What good is there, Ah me, what good in Love? Since, even if you love me, we must part; And since for either, and you cared enough, There's but division and a broken heart? And yet, God knows, to hear you say: My Dear! I would lie down and stretch me on the bier. And yet would I, to hear you say: My own! With mine own hands drag down the burial stone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR by ALFRED TENNYSON FAREWELL TO THE PILGRIMS by THEODORE M. BAKKE ECHOES OF SPRING: 6 by MATHILDE BLIND THE RETURN OF YOUTH by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A HUN by VINCENT GODFREY BURNS TO THYRZA (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 27 by THOMAS CAMPION |