Our love was all arrayed in pleasantness, A tender little love that sighed and smiled At little happy nothings, like a child, A dainty little love in fancy dress. But now the love that once was half in play Has come to be this grave and piteous thing. Why did you leave me all the suffering For all your memory when you went away? You might have played the play out, O my friend, Closing upon a kiss our comedy. Or is it, then, a fault of taste in me, Who like no tragic exit at the end? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOWERS OF SIMON RODIA; FOR HOWARD W. SWENSON 1903-1081 by KAREN SWENSON THE JOYS OF THE ROAD by BLISS CARMAN CALAIS SANDS by MATTHEW ARNOLD CORRESPONDENCES by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE STORM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN UNFULFILLMENT by FRANCES LOUISA BUSHNELL LINES ON THE CAMP HILL NEAR HASTINGS by THOMAS CAMPBELL |