Comfort to a Youth that had lost his Love

Robert Herrick.

WHAT needs complaints,

When she a place

Has with the race

  Of saints?


In endless mirth

She thinks not on

What ’s said or done

  In Earth.


She sees no tears,

Or any tone

Of thy deep groan

  She hears:


Nor does she mind

Or think on ‘t now

That ever thou

  Wast kind;


But changed above,

She likes not there,

As she did here,

  Thy love.


Forbear therefore,

And lull asleep

Thy woes, and weep

  No more.


literature, poetry

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