Author Henry de Vere Stacpoole True God of Love, turn here thy gaze, Draw death to me through Death's dark ways More hastily. For I have badly used my days; I die of love through Love's delays, Most certainly. Grief's weariness upon me preys. 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