Our marriage
So once I have thought how sweet it is to love!
And so I did follow in aught how beguiling is young desire!
And thus I have endured the pleasing pains we prove
When we first approach our love's fire!
And in truth our pains of love were sweeter far
Than all other pleasures were or are.
Our early sighs which were from our love blown
Did but gently heave and calm the heart:
Even the tears we shed together and alone
Cured, like trickling balm, their smart:
As young lovers, when we lost our breath,
we bled away in an easy soothing death.
But now I ask why should a foolish marriage vow,
Which long ago in years and seasons was made,
Still oblige us to each other now,
When passion is lost and love decayed?
We loved, and we loved, as long as we could,
Till our love was loved out in us both;
But our marriage is dead when the pleasure and fun are fled:
It was pleasure first made it an oath.
Yet with time and in years it grow into despise and loath
Yet now I ask not the cause why it turns sullen spring
That so long delays her flowers over our heads to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing, and quite are the lake rings
And winter storms invert the year under its gloom we lost our cheer
Roses are gone; and fate provides
To make it spring away where she resides.
And in this world of prison and loath in which we stubbornly stay
Your indifference of a spectator who is idle and aloofly sits
An icon of more a beholding than caring in a cold detached play
Of estranging and abandoning rather than amending my troubled wits
Take for instance the times when I enjoy glad occasions
Or in sad times when I wail and utter my pains and woes
The first kind you encounter with sulphuric retreats of desperation
While on the second you offer no kindness, a total cruelty in shows
Finding no delights in my mirth nor rues in my successes
Mocking me in my laughs, and when I cry
You laugh hardening ever more your remote heart and withdrawn passes
Where are this love and passion that used to dwell in your eye
And nothing in me can move you, nor mirth nor moan
Oh love, what is the process that has turn you into senseless stone!
How great our mutual grief, our joys how few,
[...] Read more
poem by Isaac Ziv
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