Poem by Walter Savage Landor

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MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel;
    My fingers ache, my lips are dry: 
Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!
    But Oh, who ever felt as I?

No longer could I doubt him true;
    All other men may use deceit: 
He always said my eyes were blue,
    And often swore my lips were sweet. 

1. Soon, O Ianthe! Life Is O'er
2. Dirce
3. Corinna, from Athens, to Tanagra
4. Past Ruin'd Ilion Helen Lives
5. Tell Me Not Things Past All Belief

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