THOU'RT wretched, yes! -- but no complaint I'll make; -- My love, we both, alas, must wretched be! Till death our poor afflicted hearts doth break, My love, we both, alas, must wretched be! I see the scorn that round thy mouth doth play, I see thine eyes that glance so haughtily, I see the pride that doth thy bosom sway, -- Yet thou art wretched, wretched e'en as I. Grief lurks around thy mouth, unseen indeed, With hidden tears thine eyes can scarcely see, And secret wounds on thy proud bosom feed -- My love, we both, alas, must wretched be! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHRISMUS ON THE PLANTATION by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE COMET AT YELL'HAM by THOMAS HARDY ANDROMEDA by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS SIT DOWN SAD SOUL by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER THE DIRGE [FOR FIDELE], FR. CYMBELINE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE TO GERMANY by CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY |