The Knickerbocker/Volume 1/Number 2/Waller to His Mistress
WALLER TO HIS MISTRESS.
[BY KENNETH QUIVORLEY.]
["There be those who say, that despite of the many verses which he wrote about this time to the Lady Dorothea Sidney, (his Sacharissa,) his wit was frequently not forthcoming, when most in quest; and that it was well for Mr. Waller that his marriage with Mrs. Banks, the great heiress of the city, who left him a rich widower at twenty-five, prevented the poet from realizing, as he might else have done, how much he who liveth by his wits is dependent not only upon his own humors, but those of others for his bread.—Memoirs of the Court of Charles II.]
I'll try no more—'tis all in vain To rack for wit my head,While every chamber of my brain By thee is tenanted.Thoughts will not come—words will not flowExcept when thus toward thee they go.
Oh! thou wert born to be my blight, My bane upon this earth—Fate did my doom that moment write In which those eyes had birth.'Tis strange that aught so good, so pure,Should work the evil I endure.
Thou darkenest each hope that flings O'er life one sunny ray;And to each joy thou lendest wings To take itself away.Yet hope and joy—oh what to meAre they, unless they spring from thee.
I'll try no more—'tis all in vain To rack for wit my head,While every chamber of my brain By thee is tenanted.Thoughts will not come—words will not flowExcept when thus toward thee they go.