If I believed that death would free my chest
Of the amorous thought that crushes me,
With my own hands I should have laid to rest
These tiresome limbs and calmed this misery;
But since I fear that it would be a change
From war to war, from woe to other woe,
On this side of the pass that marks my range
I half remain, alas, and half I go.
It is now time that the merciless string
Should press and push the arrow that remained
With other people's blood all wet and stained
And I pray Love for this, and that deaf thing
Who left me with his colours splashed and dyed,
And does not care to call me to his side.
2007-01-02
11:13:22
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1 answers
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asked by
ocxcrunner
1
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Other - Arts & Humanities