. Poems . THE LONELINESS OF SORROW. 43 Sweet love, lost love, I know now why I liveAnd could not die, the days I wished me dead;O love, all strength of life and joy I giveThee back ! Ah me, that I have dared to striveWith fates that bore me to this one sure bliss,Thou couldst not rob me, O lost love, of this? — Hadst thou said this, CEnone, though he wentBounding with life, thy life, and left thee thereDying and glad, such sudden pain had rentHis heart, that even beating in the fairWhite arms of Helen, hid in her sweet hair,It had made always moan, in strange unrest, Qinones love was greater l
. Poems . THE LONELINESS OF SORROW. 43 Sweet love, lost love, I know now why I liveAnd could not die, the days I wished me dead;O love, all strength of life and joy I giveThee back ! Ah me, that I have dared to striveWith fates that bore me to this one sure bliss,Thou couldst not rob me, O lost love, of this? — Hadst thou said this, CEnone, though he wentBounding with life, thy life, and left thee thereDying and glad, such sudden pain had rentHis heart, that even beating in the fairWhite arms of Helen, hid in her sweet hair,It had made always moan, in strange unrest, Qinones love was greater love, was best. [ Paris, the son of Priam, was wounded by one of the poisonedarrows of Hercules that Philoctetes bore to the siege of Tro), where-upon he had himself borne up into Ida, that he might see the nymph(Enone, whom he once had loved, because she who knew many secretthings alone could heal him ; but when he had seen her and spokenwith her, she would deal with the matter m no wise, whereupon Pansd
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Keywords: ., bookauthorjacksonh, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookyear1892
