Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 199

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CXCIX "MY TRUE LOVE HATH MY HEART AND I HAVE HIS"
None ever was in love with me but grief. She wooed me from the day that I was born;She stole my playthings first, the jealous thief, And left me there forlorn.
The birds that in my garden would have sung, She scared away with her unending moan;She slew my lovers too when I was young, And left me there alone.
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Grief, I have cursed thee often—now at last To hate thy name I am no longer free;Caught in thy bony arms and prisoned fast, I love no love but thee.

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