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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536354" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Woman’s Sonnets: III</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536354" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Where is the pride for which I once was blamed,<br>My vanity which held its head so high?<br>Who would believe them, seeing me thus tamed,<br>Thus subject, here as at thy feet I lie,<br>Pleading for love which now is all my life,<br>Craving a word for memory's rage to keep,<br>Asking a sign to still my inward strife,<br>Petitioning a touch to soothe my sleep?<br>Who would now guess them, as I kiss the ground<br>On which the feet of him I love have trod,<br>And bow before his voice whose least sweet sound<br>Speaks louder to me than the voice of God;<br>And knowing all the while that one dark day,<br>Spite of my worship, thou wilt turn away?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a></strong></div>

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