An Elizabethan Ode Poem by Annalise Krajeski
An Elizabethan Ode
At your mercy here I be,
Methinks thee has a curse to bestow.
Perchance love's ghostly torment
Chooseth me as a discontented lover.
And thou knows aught of the melancholy fortune
Which poisons my dreams at night.
This mischance of fate doth make a winter in my soul.
Alas, ne'er more than friends we are.
I'll speak nothing to you, sweet villain,
But shall silently beseech thy gentle favor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 3:41:45 AM # 1.0.0.1119
