HOPELESS DESIRE SOON
WITHERS AND DIES
Though naked trees seem dead to sight
When winter winds doth keenly blow,
Yet if the root maintain her right
The spring their hidden life will show.
But if the root be dead and dry,
No marvel though the branches die.
While hope did live within my breast
No winter storm could kill desire,
But now disdain hath hope oppressed
Dead is the root, dead is the spire.
Hope was the root, the spire was love,
No sap beneath, no life above.
And as we see the rootless stock
Retain some sap, and spring a while,
Yet quickly prove a lifeless block
Because the root doth life beguile,
So lives desire which hope hath left,
As twilight shines when sun is rest.
Published 1602
Who wrote this poem? No one can say with any certainty. Yet it has has somehow survived more than four hundred years. Ponder that fact now that you've read it and wonder, as I do, at the fickle nature of literary fame.
You might also enjoy:
No comments:
Post a Comment