 | Complete works (1925-27) |  |
IV
[To you, false witnesses of time beguil'd]
To you, false witnesses of time beguil'dAnd periur'd brokers of my follies past,
When expectation's discontented child,
Despair, did mocke the carefull season's wast,
I do bequeath this last and perfect truth;
Your wandering lines are forged and lying tales;
Her whom ye prais'd for love and glorious youth,
To mocke with idle flattery naught avails;
She is not fair nor true nor lov'd nor worth
The emptie cost of this expended wrath;
A falser never rob'd the dullard earth
In glory, nor did light her darkling path;
Nor fair nor true nor lov'd nor clear ye prove her,
And I believe your warrant; but I love her.
| Complete works (1925-27) | |