Poem by Walter Savage Landor

* * *

MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel;
    My fingers ache, my lips are dry: 
Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!
    But Oh, who ever felt as I?

No longer could I doubt him true;
    All other men may use deceit: 
He always said my eyes were blue,
    And often swore my lips were sweet. 

1. Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow
2. A Pastoral
3. Idle Words
4. The Gates of Fame and of the Grave
5. With Rosy Hand a Little Girl Prest Down

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