Why blame I him
While he with ecstasy filled mine own dull days
With much enjoyable misery?
With what sight I must greet him?
He who hath beauty like not in Heaven.
What hath he posses of natural intimacy to mine own fervent lips?
What hath he done for that he is who he is?
I am a vanquished Ophelia.
Denmark is gone with the wind.
YOU ARE READING
SHALL
PoetryRanked # 494 in poetry 2017 Everlasting agony and infinite 'shall' in my decaying soul .
