Whisk Away Into The Nothingness

A Victorian poem, about the woes of love.

Nay, shall I soon beckon thee,
To see my dreary soul in woe,
Whilst I thus linger and dree,
On the wretch'd path of a foe.

Bethink the birr of my wails,
With my teen much woven,
Amidst such wearisome ails, 
That left mine heart cloven.

Feel a weight of my sorrow,
Whence I wend straightway,
O'er the unbridl'd morrow,
That I do ween when away.

Bear the throes that throb,
Within such a forsaken rue,
Where brazen sleights rob,
A troth once sworn and true.

Nay, shall I beseech on thee,
To wheedle me with idle talk,
Whilst I wish anon a fond glee,
Before the waters where I balk.

Heed my bode my feisty lass,
When I speak in a fiery tongue,
That shall not sway my brass,
With thy smile fain and young.

Dare my lonesome brows to rise,
And cringe and quickly yield now,
Before thy beguiling wit and guise,
Wheresoe'er it behoveth me to dow.

Through gloomy carrs too shallow,
Where I seek a liefsome happiness,
To forget brash whims that harrow,
Whisk away into the nothingness.