You fractious, wayward, ill-tempered girl,
What monstrous, insults at me your hurl!
I inconstant in affection? Look to your soul
In deep reflection.
Can the wayward bumble bee alight
On just one flower and be requite;
It’s in your nature to be so perverse.
Well I know, being so accursed.
I gave you love from out my heart,
Yes, this jesting fool played his part;
I whimpered, I wooed, I hung on your lips,
As if life’s nectar could there be sipped;
Yes, I discourse as one who’s mad,
I ambled and prate like any lad;
I tug and rush upon your line,
Like a fish who’s bait he thinks divine;
Helter-skelter I rush about
Like some mad foolish, doltish lout;
A madman, yes, I’m quite depraved;
These wiles you wield lead to the grave;
I renounce my gifts, my rich words;
My glass repels my acts absurd;
If I have played the lover-fool
Pretend not innocence, being unschooled;
It’s in your Nature to torture men
The devils guards the gates of heaven;
And if I seem wild, uncouth, obtuse;
The cause is yours, oh fledgling youth.
Comments about this poem (Mad Poet by David McLansky )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings