William Henry Drummond

Inexorable

MY thoughts hold mortal strife;
   I do detest my life,
   And with lamenting cries
   Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise:
   —But he, grim-grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having deck’d with beauty’s rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.
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