Poems (Rowe)/Cruel as the Grave
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE
AH! dearest one! If you could see my heart,All torn and bleeding with Love's vivid smart, You'd comfort me; you'd heal me of my ache, If not for mine, then for Sweet Pity's sake!
Oh! do not think me weak, or overbold. How can I live and see your heart grow cold To me alone? For others all the flame Of Love and Passion burning without shame!
And yet I am that She you found so fair To pleasure whom was once your only care, Until you won me. Irony of Fate!'Tis I that love! And now 'tis you that hate!
Cruel? The Grave! Ah, no! a Friend most kind, Soothing the broken heart, the maddened mind. Dear God is good, and gives to all the chance Of joining when we will Death's mazy dance.