WHO DECLARED AN INTENTION OF LEAVING OFF WRITING IN FUTURE.
OFT ‘ doth the mournful muse complain,
And will, I wean, as oft again,
That man, ungrateful man, hath prov’d,
Least tender where he’s fondest lov’d.
The charms, to-day so highly priz’d,
Next–lose all magic in his eyes;
And tho’ implor’d, with winning air,
With sigh of love or tear–of care,
His heart more cold, more hard will grow,
Than polish’d steel, or mountain snow.
But you, my friend, I thought would ne’er,
The faults of common mortals share;
And griev’d am I, that you inherit,
The same inconstant, fickle spirit;
For even now, the gentle muse,
Who courts your favor, you refuse,
Aside you turn, nor need her smile,
Who once did many an hour beguile
On you she lavish’d every grace;
‘Tis yours her richest stores to trace
But all her favors you despise,
And care not if she lives or dies.
(Caroline Maxwell)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, Mind Poems, Friendship Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Smiling Poems, Snow Poems, Future Poems, Intention PoemsBased on Keywords: griev, priz, implor, tear-of