Must he then only live to weep, Whod prove his friendship true and deep By day a lonely shadow creep, At night-time languish, Oft raising in his broken sleep The moan of anguish? The lover, if for certain days His fair one be denied his gaze, Sinks not in grief and wild amaze, But, wiser wooer, He spends the time in writing lays, And posts them to her. Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet, In desert waste or crowded street, Perhaps before this week shall fleet, Perhaps to-morrow. I trust to find YOUR heart the seat Of wasting sorrow. Lewis Lewis Jason Michael Carroll
Posted on: Mon, 25 Nov 2013 07:45:17 +0000