Explore "Wat'Red Was My Wine" by Alice Meynell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
LATE tired with woe, even ready for to pine,
With rage of love, I called my love unkind;
She in whose eyes love, though unfelt, doth shine,
Sweet said that I true love in her should find.
I joyed; but straight thus wat'red was my wine,
That love she did, but loved a love not blind;
Which would not let me, whom she loved, decline
From nobler course, fit for my birth and mind:
And therefore, by her love's authority, / Wiled me these tempests of vain love to fly, / And anchor fast myself on virtue's shore.
Alas, if this the only metal be / Of love new-coined to help my beggary, / Dear, love me not, that you may love me more.