These words that may not reach your heart <br />Are wrung from mine in bitter pain, <br />You, reading, but despise their art <br />That is not art but blood—in vain <br />The blood is ebbing from my heart. <br /> <br />The passions of my tortured mind <br />Trouble but lightly your calm soul— <br />No ugliness besets the blind— <br />A shadow on darkness is the whole <br />Of my misfortune in your mind. <br /> <br />And yet I love you that you say <br />You will not love me—truth is hard, <br />’Twere so much easier to give way <br />And stay the death-stroke, my reward— <br />Courage, brave heart! ’tis Love you slay.<br /><br />Joseph Mary Plunkett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/moriturus-te-salutat/
