Beheld'st thou me looke backe at our good night:
O no good night,
Dismall, obscure, and blacke:
Mine eyes then in their language spake,
And would haue thus complain'd:
Thou leau'st the heart, makes vs depart;
Curst is our part,
And hard to be sustain'd.
O happie heart that was retain'd:
Alas, to leaue vs too, there is no Art:
It in her bosome now should nightly sleepe,
And we exil'd, still for her absence weepe.
William Alexander
No comments:
Post a Comment