Fortune, art thou not forced sometimes to scorn? That seest ambition strive to change our state? As though thy scepter slave to lust were born? Or wishes could procure themselves a fate? I, when I have shot one shaft at my mother, That her desires a-foot think all her own, Then straight draw up my bow to strike another, For gods are best by discontentment known. And when I see the poor forsaken sprite, Like sick men, whom the doctor saith must die, Sometime with rage and strength of passion fight, Then languishing inquire what life might buy, I smile to see desire is never wise, But wars with change, which is her paradise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS by HENRY GLASSFORD BELL THE OLD SQUIRE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE ROMAN ROAD by THOMAS HARDY ROBIN ADAIR by CAROLINE KEPPEL EVENING IN ENGLAND by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE THE SIGN OF THE CROSS by JOHN HENRY NEWMAN SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 114 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER (2) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |