When to my deadly pleasure, When to my lively torment, Lady, mine eyes remained, Joined, alas, to your beams, With violence of heavenly Beauty tied to virtue, Reason abashed retired, Gladly my senses yielded. Gladly my senses yielding Thus to betray my heart's fort Left me devoid of all life. They to the beamy suns went, Where, by the death of all deaths, Find to what harm they hastened; Like to the silly sylvan Burned by the light he best liked, When with a fire he first met. Yet, yet, a life to their death, Lady, you have reserved; Lady, the life of all love; For though my sense be from me, And I be dead, who want sense; Yet do we both live in you; Turned anew by your means Unto the flower that aye turns, As you, alas, my sun bends. Thus do I fall, to rise thus; Thus do I die, to live thus; Changed to a change, I change not. Thus may I not be from you; Thus be my senses on you; Thus what I think is of you; Thus what I seek is in you; All what I am, it is you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STROLLER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS PROVINCIA DESERTA by EZRA POUND THE BRAWL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE OL' COW HAWSE by EARL ALONZO BRININSTOOL THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: THE NORTH SEA by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |