Lyric № 9435
"On My Love"
My love is not a faded rose
Nor music out of tune;
Not bitterness, but sweetness come
Too much, too quick, too soon.
On beauty I was overfed
Till I at last grew ill;
And even as lips speak these words
I taste it, dulcet, still.
Kindness' milk I overdrank
Quaffing it far too fast;
Thusly, when drunk, I asked for more
To find I had the last.
The jesting I had overdone
Glad stories overtold
The last of which I have to voice
Is this, love's food, grown cold.
Take care, all epicures of love,
Of whereupon you eat;
Insure that you've welcome table
Or least, of all, a seat.
6 comments
i think other people dont see true beauty when they look at your poems.but i do
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