Back to Index

Herbert Marshall

by Edgar Lee Masters, 1916

All your sorrow, Louise, and hatred of me
 Sprang from your delusion that it was wantonness
 Of spirit and contempt of your soul's rights
 Which made me turn to Annabelle and forsake you.
 You really grew to hate me for love of me,
 Because I was your soul's happiness,
 Formed and tempered
 To solve your life for you, and would not.
 But you were my misery. If you had been
 My happiness would I not have clung to you?
 This is life's sorrow:
 That one can be happy only where two are;
 And that our hearts are drawn to stars
 Which want us not.

Published in Spoon River Anthology

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.