And that's a favour far beyond desert, But not beyond desire I have to love thee. Dost thou desire? I'll rip my wounded heart, And show thee that which there perhaps may move thee; O let me find access unto thy breast, And there receive my almost wearied soul: Her wings are weary, and implore some rest, Her wearied wings their slippery fate condole; And scorn me not that I so much have sought thee, For know, Azile, I have dearly bought thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLAD OF HUMAN LIFE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY'S DAY, BEING THE SHORTEST DAY by JOHN DONNE THE CULPRIT FAY by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE TO FLORENCE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |