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Thomas Hood - Sonnet to My Wife
Work rating: Low

The curse of Adam, the old curse of all, 
Though I inherit in this feverish life 
Of worldly toil, vain wishes, and hard strife, 
And fruitless thought, in Care`s eternal thrall, 
Yet more sweet honey than of bitter gall 
I taste, through thee, my Eve, my sweet wife. 
Then what was Man`s lost Paradise!—how rife 
Of bliss, since love is with him in his fall! 
Such as our own pure passion still might frame, 
Of this fair earth, and its delightful bow`rs, 
If no fell sorrow, like the serpent, came 
To trail its venom o`er the sweetest flow`rs;— 
But oh! as many and such tears are ours, 
As only should be shed for guilt and shame!
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