Rivals

By William Walsh

1663-1708


OF all the torments, all the cares,
         With which our lives are curst;
Of all the plagues a lover bears,
         Sure rivals are the worst!
By partners in each other kind
         Afflictions easier grow;
In love alone we hate to find
         Companions of our woe.

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see
         Are labouring in my breast,
I beg not you would favour me,
         Would you but slight the rest!
How great soe'er your rigours are,
         With them alone I'll cope;
I can endure my own despair,
         But not another's hope.

DayPoems Poem No. 421
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/421.html">Rivals by William Walsh</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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