A LONE walking, In thought pleyning, And sor sighing, All desolate, Me remembring Of my living, My deth wishing, Bothe erly and late, Infortunate Is so my fate, That -- wote ye what? -- Out of mesure My lyf I hate. Thus desperate In pore estate Do I endure. Of other cure Am I nat sure; Thus to endure Is hard, certain. Such is my ure, I yow ensure. What creature May have more pain? My trouth so pleyn Is take in veyn, And gret disdeyn In remembraunce; Yet I ful feyn Wold me compleyn, Me to absteyn From this penaunce. But in substaunce Noon allegeaunce Of my grevaunce Can I nat finde. Right so my chaunce With displesaunce Doth me avaunce. And thus an end. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT KENNEBUNKPORT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER TO HIS WIFE ON THE 16TH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING DAY, WITH A RING by SAMUEL BISHOP BROTHER AND SISTER by MARY ANN EVANS SONNET: 19. ON HIS BLINDNESS by JOHN MILTON AFTER THE BATTLE (OF AUGHRIM) by THOMAS MOORE LOVE'S RESURRECTION DAY by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON SONNET: 104 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER (2) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |