Knight Of Noble Sorrows
The white of my eyes has been painted red.
Horror of a tragedy and moments of dread.
Remembering the time, grief gripping my head.
Keeping hope alive; but no, she is dead. Day dreamers despair, a poet of pain.
Her beauty so fair with poise so tame.
What will become of tomorrow?
As I sit, my soul floods; drowning in sorrow. Could we be at the end of all time?
Or is this merely a grief-stricken rhyme?
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Comments about this poem (Knight Of Noble Sorrows by Mark Hunsdon )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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