Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air, Thrice sit thou mute in this inchanted chair; And thrice three times tie up this true loves knot, And murmur soft, she will, or she will not. Go burn these pois'nous weeds in you blue fire, These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar; This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave; That all thy fears and cares an end may have. Then come, you Fairies, dance with me a round; Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound: In vain are all the charms I can devise: She hath an art to break them with her eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME by ROBERT HERRICK THE STARLIGHT NIGHT by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS NEW YORK AT NIGHT by AMY LOWELL FROM THE ANTIQUE (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A QUESTION by JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE |