 | Claribel and Other Poems |  |
181
FALSE HOPE
God save me from mine enemy!
I pray we ne'er may meet again.
She has been worse than foe to me:
And yet, if we should meet again
I should believe her, to my bane.
I pray we ne'er may meet again.
She has been worse than foe to me:
And yet, if we should meet again
I should believe her, to my bane.
She has been worse than foe to me,
With promised love and present pain,
Till love seem'd only injury,
And troth was known to be in vain:
I did believe her, to my bane.
With promised love and present pain,
Till love seem'd only injury,
And troth was known to be in vain:
I did believe her, to my bane.
Her clear eyes look'd so lovingly,
'She clung with such a hearty strain,
Her lips—O God! so sweet to me—
Left upon mine a poison blain:
I did believe her, to my bane.
'She clung with such a hearty strain,
Her lips—O God! so sweet to me—
Left upon mine a poison blain:
I did believe her, to my bane.
She has been worse than foe to me:
Yet I should love her o'er again
If we should meet—dear Injury!
Men call her Hope,—but she is Pain.
Pray God we may not meet again.
Yet I should love her o'er again
If we should meet—dear Injury!
Men call her Hope,—but she is Pain.
Pray God we may not meet again.
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