poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

I'll tell you a sore truth, little understood
It's harder to leave, than to be left:
To stay, to leave, both sting wrong.

You will always have me to blame,
Can dream we might have sailed on;
        From absence's rib, a warm fiction.

To tear up old love by the roots,
To trample on past affections:
There is no music for so harsh a song.


Anonymous submission.

Added: 1 Apr 2002 | Last Read: 26 May 2012 6:45 PM | Viewed: 3271 times

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