A Song of Sour Grapes
I wish your body were in the grave,Deep down as a grave may be,Or rotting under the deepest waveThat ever ploughed the sea.
I wish I never had seen your face,Or the sinuous curve of your mouth,Dear as a straw to a man who drownsOr rain to a land in drouth.
I would that your mother had never borne,Your father’s seed to fruit,That meadow rats had gnawed his cornBefore it gathered root.