Tixall Poetry/Despair
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For works with similar titles, see Despair.
VI.
Despair.
Like hermitt poore,
In pensive place obscure,
I meane to spend my dayes in endlesse doubt;
To waile such woes as time can never cure,
Where none but death shall ever find me out:
And at my gates dispaire shall linger still,
To let in death when love and fortune will.
In pensive place obscure,
I meane to spend my dayes in endlesse doubt;
To waile such woes as time can never cure,
Where none but death shall ever find me out:
And at my gates dispaire shall linger still,
To let in death when love and fortune will.
My food shall be
Of cares and sorrowes made,
My drinke nought els but teares falne from my eyes;
And for my light in this obscured shade,
The flames shall serve which from my hart arise:
And at my gates, &c.
Of cares and sorrowes made,
My drinke nought els but teares falne from my eyes;
And for my light in this obscured shade,
The flames shall serve which from my hart arise:
And at my gates, &c.
A gowne of gray
My body shall attire,
My stafie of broken hopes, wheron He stay:
And late repentance linkt with long dispaire
My couch is fram'd, whereon my limbs He lay:
And at my gates, &c.
My body shall attire,
My stafie of broken hopes, wheron He stay:
And late repentance linkt with long dispaire
My couch is fram'd, whereon my limbs He lay:
And at my gates, &c.