Oh! I could toil for thee o'er burning plains; Could smile at poverty's disastrous blow; With thee, could wander 'midst a world of snow, Where one long night o'er frozen Scythia reigns. Severed from thee, my sickening soul disdains The thrilling thought, the blissful dream to know, And can'st thou give my days to endless woe, Requiting sweetest bliss with cureless pains? Away, false fear! nor think capricious fate Would lodge a demon in a form divine! Sooner the dove shall seek a tiger mate, Or the soft snowdrop round the thistle twine; Yet, yet, I dread to hope, nor dare to hate, Too proud to sue! too tender to resign! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SOUTH COUNTRY by HILAIRE BELLOC HOLY CROSS DAY by ROBERT BROWNING STANZAS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON WHEN DEY 'LISTED COLORED SOLDIERS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR MY LADY'S PLEASURE by ROBERT GRAHAM DIVINA COMMEDIA (INTRODUCTORY POEMS): 1 by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |