Poem by Edward Herbert

Love's End

Thus ends my Love, but this doth grieve me most,
That so it ends, but that ends too, this yet,
Besides the Wishes, hopes and time I lost,
Troubles my mind awhile, that I am set
Free, worse then denied: I can neither boast
Choice nor success, as my Case is, nor get
Pardon from myself; that I loved not
A better Mistress, or her worse; this Debt
Only's her due, still, that she be forgot
Ere chang'd, lest I love none; this done, the taint
Of foul Inconstancy is clear'd at least
In me, there only rests but to unpaint
Her form in my mind, that so dispossest
It be a Temple, but without a Saint. 

1. Epitaph on King James
2. Ditty in Imitation of the Spanish Entre Tanto Que L'Avril
3. To Her Face
4. To Her Hair
5. Upon Combing Her Hair

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