Poem by William Watson

* * *

Nay, bid me not my cares to leave,
  Who cannot from their shadow flee.
I do but win a short reprieve,
  'Scaping to pleasure and to thee.

I may, at best, a moment's grace,
  And grant of liberty, obtain;
Respited for a little space,
  To go back into bonds again.

1. To a Friend
2. And These - Are These Indeed the End
3. Well He Slumbers, Greatly Slain
4. The Russ at Kara
5. Liberty Rejected

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