Linked to Poetry Friday at The Writer’s Armchair.
Mother, I cannot mind my wheel;
My fingers ache, my lips are dry:
O, if you felt the pain I feel!
But O, who ever felt as I?
No longer could I doubt him true –
All other men may use deceit;
He always said my eyes were blue,
And often swore my lips were sweet.
OK, commenters and poets, ‘splain.
I have no idea. Maybe you should link up to Poetry Friday.
He can’t lie anymore because he’s dead?
Is this perhaps about a girl who is love sick? She so feels strongly she is almost sick with love and cannot work her spinning wheel. She is bemoaning the fact that no one has felt as she does—young love, first love, maybe?
I think she WAS deceived by him, and is devastated by the experience. Maybe?