Think, Delia, with what cruel haste <br />Our fleeting pleasures move, <br />Nor heedless in sorrow waste <br />The moments due to love; <br /> <br />Be wise, my fair, and gently treat <br />These few that are our friends; <br />Think thus abused, what sad regret <br />Their speedy flight attends! <br /> <br />Sure in those eyes I loved so well, <br />And wished so long to see, <br />Anger I thought could never dwell, <br />Or anger aimed at me. <br /> <br />No bold offence of mine I knew <br />Should e'er provoke your hate; <br />And, early taught to think you true, <br />Still hoped a gentler fate. <br /> <br />With kindness bless the present hour, <br />Or oh! we meet in vain! <br />What can we do in absence more <br />Than suffer and complain? <br /> <br />Fated to ills beyond redress, <br />We must endure our woe; <br />The days allowed us to possess, <br />'Tis madness to forego.<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-in-a-quarrel/
