by Thomas Campbell (1777 - 1844)

Oh how hard it is to find
Language: English 
Oh how hard it is to find 
The one just suited to our mind;
  And if that one should be 
False, unkind, or found too late, 
What can we do but sigh at fate, 
And sing Wo's1 me — Wo's me!

Love's a boundless burning waste, 
Where Bliss's stream we seldom taste, 
  And still more seldom flee 
Suspense's thorns, Suspicion's stings;
Yet somehow Love a something brings 
  That's sweet — ev'n when we sigh Wo's me!

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Confirmed with The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell: Consisting of The Pleasures of Hope, Gertrude of Wyoming, Theodric, and Other Poems, Written at Different Periods from 1799 to 1827, Boston, Munroe and Francis, 1827, page 207.

1 Modern spelling would be "Woe's".

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2016-01-08
Line count: 12
Word count: 77