The Inconsistent
I say, “She was as good as fair,”When standing by her mound;“Such passing sweetness,” I declare,“No longer treads the ground.”I say, “What living Love can catchHer bloom and bonhomie,And what in newer maidens matchHer olden warmth to me!”
—There stands within yon vestry-nookWhere bonded lovers sign,Her name upon a faded bookWith one that is not mine.To him she breathed the tender vowShe once had breathed to me,But yet I say, “O love, even nowWould I had died for thee!”
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.