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Charlotte Smith - Sonnet XXI. Supposed To Written By Werter
Work rating: Low

GO! cruel tyrant of the human breast!
To other hearts thy burning arrows bear;
Go, where fond hope, and fair illusion rest;
Ah! why should love inhabit with despair!
Like the poor maniac I linger here,
Still haunt the scene where all my treasure lies;
Still seek for flowers where only thorns appear,
`And drink delicious poison from her eyes!`
Tow`rds the deep gulf that opens on my sight
I hurry forward, Passion`s helpless slave!
And scorning Reason`s mild and sober light,
Pursue the path that leads me to the grave!
So round the flame the giddy insect flies,
And courts the fatal fire by which it dies!
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