MY thoughts hold mortal strife; <br /> I do detest my life, <br /> And with lamenting cries <br /> Peace to my soul to bring <br />Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise: <br /> --But he, grim-grinning King, <br />Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise, <br />Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, <br />Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.<br /><br />William Henry Drummond<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/inexorable/
