I WAS a joke at dinners; aye, any would-be wit Might use me for a target, and I must stomach it. Five years I could be loyal; but now, you'll often mourn, Biting your nails for anguish, the faith at last outworn, Nay, weeping will not touch me—I know that trick of old; You always weep from ambush, I cannot be cajoled. I shall depart in tears, but my wrongs will check their flow; Ours was a team well sorted—you could not leave it so. So now, my mistress' threshold, where oft my tear-drops fell, And thou, the door I haunted, I bid ye both farewell. May age afflict you, Cynthia, with ill-dissembled years, And may you see the wrinkles your fading beauty fears. And when your glass flings at you the ruin pictured there, Go curse them, every wrinkle, and every whitening hair. Be you in turn excluded, and suffer proud disdain, And all you did to others be done to you again. So fate shall soon avenge me—my page bids you give ear— Your beauty waits this ending. Woman, believe—and fear! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SACHEM OF THE CLOUDS (A THANKSGIVING LEGEND) by ROBERT FROST EPITAPH FOR A SOLDIER by DAVID IGNATOW FINIS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE LAMP OF LIFE by AMY LOWELL DOCTOR OF BILLIARDS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON OCTAVES: 16 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE WALKING MAN OF RODIN by CARL SANDBURG |