32 - Poem by Mary Wroth
Griefe, killing griefe, have not my torments beene
Already great and strong enough? but still
Thou dost increase, nay glory in mine il,
And woes new past, afresh new woes begin?
Am I the onely purchase thou canst win?
Was I ordain'd to give despaire her fill,
Or fittest I should mount misfortunes hill,
Who in the plaine of joy cannot live in?
If it be so, Griefe come as welcome guest,
Since I must suffer for anothers rest;
Yet this (good Griefe) let me intreat of thee,
Use still thy force, but not from those I love
Let me all paines and lasting torments prove;
So I misse these, lay all thy waights on me.
Comments about 32 by Mary Wroth
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.