Jilted Poem by Radclyffe Hall
Jilted
Oh ! golden is the gorse-bush.
Beneath an April sky,
The lark is full of singing,
The clouds are white and high ;
But my love, my love is faithless.
And she cares no more for I !
Then what's the good of living.
With the bright sun overhead.
When the earth is always ready
And will give a kinder bed,
Where no vows be made or broken.
And no bitter words are said !
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4/29/2024 11:19:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
