Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE ACCUSES LAURA OF HARDNESS

He, that in Thessaly for empire threw,
Soaking with civic blood Pharsalia's field,
As Pompey's body, stretched upon his shield,
Passed by, with tears beheld the face he knew;
David, who split the Philistine in two,
Lamented his rebellious sons, and kneeled
In generous grief when Saul, by brave death healed
Of shame, Gilboa's tribute also drew.
But you, whom never pity blanched or paled,
Who always keep your bucklers at your hand
Against Love's bow which might as well be sand,
Regard me by a thousand deaths assailed —
No drop from those dear eyes that never quailed,
But anger and contemptuous reprimand.