I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:
I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;
Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
After all these years, I cannot resist quoting this one - even though so many people quote the last two lines, not knowing where they came from, applying them in ways not pertinent to the original meaning. 'Tis better....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. A wonderful feeling of satisfaction that helps find inner peace