I gave my heart to a woman –
I gave it her, branch and root.
She bruised, she wrung, she tortured,
She cast it under foot.
Under her feet she cast it,
She trampled it where it fell,
She broke it all to pieces,
And each was a clot of hell.
There in the rain and the sunshine
They lay and smouldered long;
And each, when again she viewed them,
Had turned to a living song.
More verses by William Ernest Henley
- Life Is Bitter
- Double Ballade On The Nothingness Of Things
- Let Us Be Drunk
- A Dainty Thing's The Villanelle
- A New Song To An Old Tune