You say at your feet I wept in despair, And vowed that no angel was ever so fair: How could you believe all the nonsense I spoke? What know we of angels?I meant it in joke. I next stand indicted for swearing to love (And nothing but death should my passion remove): I have liked you a twelvemonth, a calendar year: And not yet contented!Have conscience, my dear! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DARKNESS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ON PARTING by GEORGE GORDON BYRON AFTER A LECTURE ON KEATS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES TO LUCASTA, [ON] GOING BEYOND THE SEAS by RICHARD LOVELACE MOTHER TO SON by IRENE RUTHERFORD MCLEOD TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, IN NEW-ENGLAND by PHILLIS WHEATLEY |