Poetry Archives

There’s many and many, and not so far,
  Is willing to dry my tears away;
There’s many to tell me what you are,
  And never a lie to all they say.

It’s little the good to hide my head,
  It’s never the use to bar my door;
There’s many as counts the tears I shed,
  There’s mourning hearts for my heart is

There’s honester eyes than your blue eyes,
  There’s better a mile than such as you.
But when did I say that I was wise,
  And when did I hope that you were true?