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User Rating:
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5.5
/10
(20 votes)
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I KNOW not how to call you light,
Since I myself was lighter;
Nor can you blame my changing plight
Who were the first inviter.
I know not which began to range
Since we were never constant;
And each when each began to change
Was found a weak remonstrant.
But this I know, the God of Love
Both shake his hand against us,
And scorning says we ne'er did prove
True passion—but pretences.
William Roscoe
| Submitted Date |
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Thursday, January 01, 2004 |
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Read poems about / on: passion, change, light, god, love
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