Poems (Procter)/A Crown of Sorrow
SORROW, wet with early tears Yet bitter, had been long with me;I wearied of this weight of years, And would be free.
A CROWN OF SORROW.
SORROW, wet with early tears Yet bitter, had been long with me;I wearied of this weight of years, And would be free.I tore my Sorrow from my heart, I cast it far away in scorn;Right joyful that we two could part, Yet most forlorn.
I sought, (to take my Sorrow's place,) Over the world for flower or gem;But she had had an ancient grace Unknown to them.
I took once more with strange delight My slighted Sorrow; proudly nowI wear it, set with stars of light, Upon my brow.