O goodly hand, Wherein doth stand Mine heart distrast in pain; Fair hand, alas, In little space My life that doth restrain. O fingers slight, Departed right, So long, so small, so round; Goodly begone, And yet alone Most cruel in my wound. With lilies white And roses bright Doth strive thy color fair; Nature did lend Each finger's end A pearl for to repair. Consent at last, Since that thou hast My heart in thy demesne, For service true On me to rue And reach me love again. And if not so, Then with more woe Enforce thyself to strain This simple heart, That suffereth smart, And rid it out of pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DARK ROSALEEN by TOMAS COSTELLO VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 5. NIGHT SONG AT AMALFI by SARA TEASDALE FROM AN OFFICE WINDOW by FRANCES M. BALLARD SOIS SAGE O MA DOULEUR by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE DIRGE AND HYMENAL by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ECHOES OF SPRING: 6 by MATHILDE BLIND MOLE CATCHER by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN LAST DAYS OF QUEEN ELIZABETH by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON |