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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384450" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Isaura</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dost thou not tire, Isaura, of this play?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What play?' Why, this old play of winning hearts!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, now, lift not thine eyes in that feigned way:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis all in vain—I know thee and thine arts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let us be frank, Isaura. I have made</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A study of thee; and while I admire</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The practised skill with which thy plans are laid,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I can but wonder if thou dost not tire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why, I tire even of Hamlet and Macbeth!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When overlong the season runs, I find</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those master-scenes of passion, blood, and death,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">After a time do pall upon my mind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dost thou not tire of lifting up thine eyes</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To read the story thou hast read so oft—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of ardent glances and deep quivering sighs,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of haughty faces suddenly grown soft?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it not stale, oh, very stale, to thee,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The scene that follows? Hearts are much the same;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The loves of men but vary in degree—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They find no new expressions for the flame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou must know all they utter ere they speak,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I know Hamlet's part, whoever plays.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, does it not seem sometimes poor and weak?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think thou must grow weary of their ways.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I pity thee, Isaura! I would be</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The humblest maiden with her dream untold</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rather than live a Queen of Hearts, like thee,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And find life's rarest treasures stale and old.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I pity thee; for now, let come what may,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fame, glory, riches, yet life will lack all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wherewith can salt be salted? And what way</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Can life be seasoned after love doth pall?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384450" data-title="Isaura de Ella Wheeler Wilcox" data-description="Dost thou not tire, Isaura, of this play?

'What play?' Why, this old play of winning hearts!

Nay, now, lift not thine eyes in that feigned way:

'Tis all in vain—I know thee and thine arts.

Let us be frank, Isaura. I have made

A study of the..."></div>
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