Speak not again of love . . . it is too late! Pretense no longer conjures up a spell, Nor honeyed words that are no parallel With your last cruel speech, can compensate For broken vows. Unbridled thoughts of hate Have claimed your loving heart, yet in my own Great pity dwells for you, though love has flown. Your promise had no meaning to translate. You ask a boon of me? You will atone? Perchance you see the moonlit garden where We pledged our troth; smell roses fully blown; Hear songs of nightingales, drink summer air Dew-swept and rare. Till then, I had not known Love's ecstasy. A boon, my sweet? I do not dare. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUT NOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TEARS AND KISSES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A MID-DAY DREAMER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 4. THE LOTTERY GIRL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE GARDEN OF ADONIS by EMMA LAZARUS |