I cannot tell who loves the skeleton Of a poor marmoset, naught but bone, bone. Give me a nakedness with her clothes on. Such whose white-satin upper coat of skin, Cut upon velvet rich incarnadin, Has yet a body (and of flesh) within. Sure it is meant good husbandry in men, Who so incorporate with aery lean, To repair their sides, and get their rib again. Hard hap unto that huntsman that decrees Fat joys for all his sweat, whenas he sees, After his 'say, naught but his keeper's fees. Then Love, I beg, when next thou takest thy bow, Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go, Pass rascal deer, strike me the largest doe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO TOBACCO by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY HYMN OF TRUST by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 28. THE WELSH MARCHES by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN A CHILD'S SONG OF CHRISTMAS by MARJORIE LOWRY CHRISTIE PICKTHALL VILE SPRING! by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |