Dayly when I do seeke and sew for peace, And hostages doe offer for my truth, She, cruell warriour, doth her selfe addresse To battell, and the weary war renew'th: Ne wilbe moov'd with reason or with rewth, To graunt small respit to my restlesse toile; But greedily her fell intent poursewth, Of my poore life to make unpitteid spoile. Yet my poore life, all sorrowes to assoyle, I would her yield, her wrath to pacify: But then she seekes, with torment and turmoyle, To force me live, and will not let me dy. All paine hath end, and every war hath peace; But mine no price nor prayer may surcease. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MILITARY PROGRESS by MARIANNE MOORE THE FOUNTAIN (2) by SARA TEASDALE |