How much, Azile, thou hast scorn'd my tears, And hast detain'd that which thou know'st is mine; Thy heart is his, even to whose heart he fears No hopes will come, and therefore doth repine Even to his death; for which way can he chuse When the remembrance of thy faith shall creep Before his eyes, and therein shall infuse A thousand tears, how can he choose but weep? O happy yet, wouldst thou this discontent But call to mind, and in that mind repent. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOUNTAIN by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE RING AND THE CASTLE by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: THE VERDICT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SQUIRE BOWLING GREEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE PAST IS THE PRESENT (2) by MARIANNE MOORE |