8 Years In An Estranged Marriage by Against the Flow

Come, my Muse! If thou disdain!

All my comforts are bereft me!

No delight doth now remain;

I, nor friend, nor flock have left me.

They are scattered on the plain.

Men, alas, are too severe,

And make scoffs at lovers' fortunes.

Women, hearted like the bear;

That regards not who importunes,

But doth all in pieces tear.

If I should my sorrows shew

Unto rivers, springs, or fountains;

They are senseless to my woe:

So are groves, and rocks, and mountains.

Then, O, whither shall I go?

Means of harbour, me to shield

From despair; ah, know you any?

For no city, grange, nor field,

Though they lend content to many,

Unto me, can comfort yield.

I have kept, and sighèd too,

For Compassion to make trial;

Yea, done all that words can do,

Yet have nothing but denial.

What way is there, then, to woo?

Shall I swear, protest, and vow?

So have I done, most extremely!

Should I die? I know not how!

For from all attempts unseemly,

Love and Virtue keep me now.