 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
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[Whence comes this coldness, prithee say!]
Whence comes this coldness, prithee say!
If woman's love be this,
Ah, woe is me and welladay!
A changing thing it is:
To love at morn, and doubt at noon,
And at a little shower
Shut up their smiles, and so be done,
Like any other flower.
If woman's love be this,
Ah, woe is me and welladay!
A changing thing it is:
To love at morn, and doubt at noon,
And at a little shower
Shut up their smiles, and so be done,
Like any other flower.
Alack! the smile did me betray
The hour we ever met;
For, woe is me and welladay!
Thee I may ne'er forget.
Upbraiding I can offer none,
Nor scorn for scorn allow;
I had not loved as I have done
If I could hate thee now.
The hour we ever met;
For, woe is me and welladay!
Thee I may ne'er forget.
Upbraiding I can offer none,
Nor scorn for scorn allow;
I had not loved as I have done
If I could hate thee now.
| The Poems of John Clare | |