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My Heart Is Sick With Longing

Thomas Hood 1799 (London) – 1845 (London)



My heart is sick with longing, tho' I feed
On hope; Time goes with such a heavy pace
That neither brings nor takes from thy embrace,
As if he slept—forgetting his old speed:
For, as in sunshine only we can read
The march of minutes on the dial's face,
So in the shadows of this lonely place
There is no love, and Time is dead indeed.
But when, dear lady, I am near thy heart,
Thy smile is time, and then so swift it flies,
It seems we only meet to tear apart,
With aching hands and lingering of eyes.
Alas, alas! that we must learn hours' flight
By the same light of love that makes them bright!

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

36 sec read
98

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABBACBBADEDEFF
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 605
Words 120
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 14

Thomas Hood

Thomas Hood was a British humorist and poet. His son, Tom Hood, became a well known playwright and editor. more…

All Thomas Hood poems | Thomas Hood Books

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    "My Heart Is Sick With Longing" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 31 Jan. 2023. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/36657/my-heart-is-sick-with-longing>.

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