I would not, in the wildness of revenge, <br />Give poison to mine enemy, nor strike <br />My dagger to his heart, but I would plant <br />Love-burning-hopeless-and unquenchable- <br />Within the inmost foldings of his breast, <br />And bid him die the dark, and ling'ring death, <br />Of the pale victims, who expire beneath <br />The pow'r of that deep passion. Earth can show <br />No bitterness like this !-The shroud of thought <br />Which gathers round them, gloomy as the grave;- <br />The wasting, but unpitied pangs, which wear <br />The frame away, and make the tortur'd mind <br />Almost a chaos in its agony;- <br /> <br />The writhings of the spirit, doom'd to see <br />A rival bless'd;-and utter, cold, despair :- <br />These are its torments !-Are they not enough <br />To satisfy the most remorseless hate?<br /><br />Eliza Acton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/revenge-72/
