DO NOT ASK OF ME, MY LOVE Do not ask of me, my love, that love I once had for you. There was a time when life was bright and young and blooming, and your sorrow was much more than any other pain. Your beauty gave the spring everlasting youth: your eyes, yes your eyes were everything, all else was vain. While you were mine, I thought, the world was mine. Though now I know that it was not reality, that’s the way I imagined it to be; for there are other sorrows in the world than love, and other pleasures, tool Woven in silk and satin and brocade, those dark and brutal curses of countless centuries: bodies bathed in blood, smeared with dust, sold from market-place to market-place, bodies risen from the cauldron of disease, pus dripping from their festering sores— my eyes must also turn to these. You’re beautiful still, my love, but I am helpless too; for there are other sorrows in the world than love, and other pleasures too. Do not ask of me, my love, that love I once had for you
Posted on: Wed, 14 Aug 2013 05:08:17 +0000
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