The Husband To His Wife - Poem by Albert Pike
Thy anguished bosom heaves no sigh,
So well it can its woes control;
Yet, gentle angel! how thine eye,
With its calm sadness, racks my soul.
I brought thee from thy happy home,
To wed with want and wretchedness;
And dost thou to my bosom come,
And him who made thee wretched bless?
In all but love, how poor we are!
Yet thou wast cradled, dear, in ease;
And I—forgive me gentle star!
And bless me with one smile of peace!
And thou art dying!—well, too well
I see death's mark upon thy brow;
Thine eyes the fatal message tell,
That I must lose thee, even now,
Dear love! reproach me not! Too hard
Are now my own stern thoughts to bear;
That I thy happiness have marred,
And dimmed the jewel that I wear.
Come, sing to me, as thou didst sing,
Ere life had grown all grief and pain;
Till sorrow to me cease to cling,
And I become a boy again.
Perhaps we may be happier,
And yet some days of gladness see;
If not,—ah,—death were welcomer
Than one reproachful look from thee.
Comments about The Husband To His Wife by Albert Pike
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl