One of my good old friends once presented this rather unkempt poem to me. Although un-styled and weak in prose yet the spirit of the man speaks clearly to any soul who has a taste for this kind of sight.
I never even tried to win her love
If love could be won by words, or charm or a consistent pursuing,
Suffering myself the potential shame,
Then I never tried at all.
Too weak in this manly chest
Grieved my heart to only dream and wish
And when one night the passion I no longer could bear
I took to her rue not a confident man.
Better in poetry I had written than in speech when I declared my ideal fancy to she -
Even then I was filled with nerves something of an unusual kind.
After a hug the last I must say from her received though a year have gone yet I feel it still,
She uneasy unfeeling for me, I closed the pursue of gaining this treasure chest.
I saw her often I smiled all brokenly, returning to my first state of dreams and wishes.
I was made alive to my folly in a foreign shore -
A dream awoke me to my manless heart.
Is it not for the man to chase, to hold out his hand for the lady to dance?
Is it not for the man to ask, to work, to play and suffer the loss,
I had wish she sang all the song and if out of tune this on her the embarrassment would fall,
The disgrace on him must come.
The matter spoken is of a nature pure, the worse would be an unreturned love.
Unreturned it was declared in a manner strong -
At times my frame declining its truth for once she spoke of persistence awe -
"Chase a woman you might win her all" -
But I am rigid a low view of myself I have.
My Rebecca, my Helen, my Juliette and Mary is gone till this day
I cannot love truly another’s playing drum.
Yes there are ladies of similar design, pure and chaste
With a Beautiful heart who looks at me with a similar vein,
Desiring our union of which I must sigh - for no reason at all except this,
that my rejected love still hold me still in that land where I often dream, and flee
Imagining us to one day be.
This I know is hegel’s idealism, combining idea and reality -
Whatever is imagined, is imagination true but yet my dream remains a dream.
I wish a lovers wand to weave
but as the subject of an unreturned love I must wish my object of desire well.
He has won the heart that I could never win
He has kissed the lips that I could never kiss.
O for 20 sorrows will it last for 20 long years,
I would pay 20 golden sun to forgo this melancholy tears.
My friends bid me to rise from this grave -
but how a dead man move unless he is awakened -
Only her words of acceptance can open my eyes and
since it will never be I live as best a dead man can-
Yes my summers never came, stuck in the first light of springs bud
Where I but hope where no hope remains, where I but live but no life to live.