To S. M
If he should lie a-dying
I AM not willing you should go
Into the earth, where Helen went;
She is awake by now, I know.
Where Cleopatra's anklets rust
You will not lie with my consent;
And Sappho is a roving dust;
Cressid could love again; Dido,
Rotted in state, is restless still;
You leave me much against my will.
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
