The enemy of life, decayer of all kind, That with his cold withers away the green, This other night me in my bed did find, And offered me to rid my fever clean; And I did grant, so did despair me blind. He drew his bow with arrow sharp and keen, And struck the place where love had hit before, And drove the first dart deeper more and more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COMMON DUST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON OVERHEARD ON A SALTMARSH by HAROLD MONRO SONNET AGAINST THE DISPRAYSERS OF POETRIE by RICHARD BARNFIELD DISCOVERY OF MADEIRA by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES JOB THE WHITE by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE APPEAL TO HAROLD by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER |