Tuesday, November 18, 2014
"Mistress Mary, Quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With Silver Bells, And Cockle Shells,
Sing cuckolds all in a row."
I would think this song play well in contrast of reading this poem try it to know how I feel.
Sweet like deaths embrace to be no more sweet, If I had not Beloved I would adore death instead, for death meets us all, and yet love just as dear might pass you up and so sweeter is the deprived hope before death comes, to seek and look and wonder will my lover be in my arms before reaped and sighed with all my happy sorrow, but I ask does it matter before death?
and wonder without a hope to be dashed to bits,
before your mystery and torment's agony that wonder,
Shall hope keep my warm, no!
Shall anticipation bring me joy, no!
Shall desire for you bring me peace, no!
But I do, I do, I do, think the cold, sorrow, starving
to continue my worth in all my woe,
a worth of your love to say,
I continue on not in hope, not in anticipation, not in desire,
but for you, my life continue on for you,
for cold, sorrow, starving are things worthy only death,
the taking of my life without you,
Oh my beloved, let me depart or come nigh onto me,
oh good comfort and tender compassion that is you,
for without you only death can be my relief!
as everything in text, save quotes of dead men,
and nursery rhymes, when no one knows who,
yet I am even as an author writes what he knows!