Oh! I could toil for thee o'er burning plains; <br />Could smile at poverty's disastrous blow; <br />With thee, could wander 'midst a world of snow, <br />Where one long night o'er frozen Scythia reigns. <br />Sever'd from thee, my sick'ning soul disdains <br />The thrilling thought, the blissful dream to know, <br />And can'st thou give my days to endless woe, <br />Requiting sweetest bliss with cureless pains? <br />Away, false fear! nor think capricious fate <br />Would lodge a daemon in a form divine! <br />Sooner the dove shall seek a tyger mate, <br />Or the soft snow-drop round the thistle twine; <br />Yet, yet, I dread to hope, nor dare to hate, <br />Too proud to sue! too tender to resign!<br /><br />Mary Darby Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xx-oh-i-could-toil-for-thee/
