Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,
My love like the spectator ydly sits
Beholding me that all the pageants play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits,
And mask in myrth lyke to a comedy:
Soone after when my joy to sorrow flits,
I waile and make my woes a tragedy.
Yet she, beholding me with constant eye,
Delights not in my merth nor rues my smart:
But when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry
She laughs and hardens evermore her heart.
What then can move her? if nor merth nor mone,
She is no woman, but a senceless stone.
Man has his will, but woman gets her way. ALSO, woman are like alcohol, just have one.
Yet she, beholding me with constant eye, Delights not in my merth nor rues my smart: But when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry She laughs and hardens evermore her heart. He had already gained her attention, seems she just wanted him to bat up and be a man.
Poet's Poet for a reason at least on love. Superb
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This poem reminds me of ancient Upanishadic lore of two birds on a tree. While one our outer self enjoys all the fruits of pain and pleasure our soul looks on be holding us calm and quiet. Ancients wrote with reverence about nature's play. Spencer finds same play frustrating. Enjoyed this version too. closer to our reality!
what is the name of the poem with the two birds? :)
what is the poem called about the two birds? :)
Beautiful piece, well written!
Fantastic catastrophe for ever-defeated lover of an unknown zone. Really unique the inference taken by oneself after a long process of waiting, expecting nearness every time and ultimate gatherance of frustrating postulation....SHE IS NO WOMAN, BUT A SENSELESS STONE.......................................Pranab k chakraborty...29/07/2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
The narrator sits in a theater watching himself play various roles on the stage. Which we all do at one time or another, don't we? Our perception of ourself varies from day to day, hour to hour even, as our mood shifts from joy or pleasure to woe or unhappiness - it all depends, don't you see? The observant woman 'beholds him with constant eye, ' she sees him straight on and is not subject to his fits or moods or self-delusions. Like some men, or most men, the speaker senses her clear-eyed vision and resents her for what he sees as her hardness of heart.