g Stories of thy cold disdain;I starve, I die, now you comply, And I no longer can complain. These twenty years Ive lived on tears,Dwelling for ever on a frown ; On sighs Ive fed, your scorn my bread;I perish now you kind are grown. Can I, who loved my beloved, But for the scorn was in her eye, Can… … w o POETRY FOR CHILDREN To that I weep, nor ever sleep,Complaining all night long to her: Helen, grown old, no longer cold,Said, You to all men I prefer. 99
Children's poetry, English
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