Strange Power, I know not what thou art,
Murderer or mistress of my heart.
I know I'd rather meet the blow
Of my most unrelenting foe
Than live---as now I live---to be
Slain twenty times a day by thee.
Yet, when I would command thee hence,
Thou mockest at the vain pretence,
Murmuring in mine ear a song
Once loved, alas! forgotten long;
And on my brow I feel a kiss
That I would rather die than miss.
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
More Poems by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on To Memory
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem To Memory here.
Commenting turned off, sorry.