The poetical works of Henry Kirke White | ||
XXI.
[When I sit musing on the chequered past]
When I sit musing on the chequered past(A term much darkened with untimely woes),
My thoughts revert to her, for whom still flows
The tear, though half disowned; and binding fast
190
I say to her she robbed me of my rest,
When that was all my wealth. 'Tis true my breast
Received from her this wearying, lingering smart;
Yet, ah! I cannot bid her form depart;
Though wronged, I love her—yet in anger love,
For she was most unworthy.—Then I prove
Vindictive joy; and on my stern front gleams,
Throned in dark clouds, inflexible. . .
The native pride of my much injured heart.
The poetical works of Henry Kirke White | ||