| |
Say not he loves me as before, as truly, dearly
As once he did... Oh no! My life
He would destroy, he does destroy - though see I clearly
The trembling of the hand that holds the knife.
Resentment, anger, tears, a pain now fierce, now muffled -
I'm wounded, stung, and yet I love... He is
All of my life, but I... I do not live - I suffer...
How bitter is existence such as this!
As to a mortal foe, in dozes scant and meagre
The air I breathe he measures out.. Each breath
I take is painful, yet... I breathe, for fresh air eager...
But life ... life slowly ebbs... I cannot ward off death.
Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
Read poems about / on: anger, pain, death, life
|
|
User Rating: |
|
--
/10
(0 votes) |
|
|
|
Free
Poetry E-Book:
E-mail this poem to e friend