Queen Elizabeth I
On Monsieur's Departure
I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly to prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned.
Since from myself another self I turned.
My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.
Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.
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Comments about this poem (On Monsieur's Departure by Queen Elizabeth I )
- For simple reaction, hasmukh amathalal
- بلادي الحزينة, Ashraf Elgmmal
- Best endevor, hasmukh amathalal
- لماذا أحب وجهكِ ؟, Ashraf Elgmmal
- Shadow Of My Soul, Spiritwind Wood
- Better Than You, Bernedita Rosinha Pinto
- Taking From Us, Spiritwind Wood
- Father Son and Holy Ghost, Audre Lorde
- For The Last Time, Orlando Belo
- End in desert, hasmukh amathalal
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)