Algernon Charles Swinburne
Poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
SORROW, on wing through the world for ever,
Here and there for awhile would borrow
Rest, if rest might haply deliver
One thought lies close in her heart gnawn thorough
With pain, a weed in a dried-up river,
A rust-red share in an empty furrow.
Hearts that strain at her chain would sever
The link where yesterday frets to-morrow:
All things pass in the world, but never
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