My words, I know, do well set forth my mind; My mind bemoans his sense of inward smart; Such smart may pity claim of any heart; Her heart (sweet heart) is of no tiger's kind: And yet she hears, yet I no pity find, But more I cry, less grace she doth impart. Alas, what cause is there so overthwart, That nobleness itself makes thus unkind? I much do guess, yet find no truth save this: That when the breath of my complaints doth touch Those dainty doors unto the court of bliss, The heavenly nature of that place is such That once come there, the sobs of mine annoys Are metamorphosed straight to tunes of joys. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 65. AL-WAJID by EDWIN ARNOLD THE WORD OF SUMMER by ELSA BARKER THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: ECLOGUE by WILLIAM BASSE NEW YEAR'S EVE, 1913 by GORDON BOTTOMLEY REMARKS ON DR. AKENSIDE'S AND MR. WHITEHEAD'S VERSES by JOHN BYROM GERTRUDE OF WYOMING; OR, THE PENNSYLVANIAN COTTAGE: 3 by THOMAS CAMPBELL |