Author Richard Henry Wilde You would have me love Yet repress my sighs, What new tortures must I prove Kindling from those eyes, While my fond lips dare not move Nor my heart's flame rise? If my love you prize, I to prove it strove ā Cruel! why the proof despise? Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments