Hope was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again!
-Okay while its not that much more up lifting, it is a beautiful poem.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Yes, it is a beautiful poem, but sad. Was she the one that had an unrequited love affair with another poet?
You know I don't know about that, she wrote Withering Heights. Had a pretty rough childhood too, I don't recall ever reading about an unrequited love affair. It's possible tho-.
Post a Comment