FATE 's now grown merciful to men, Turning disease to bliss; For had not kind rheum vex'd me then, I might not Celia kiss. Physicians, you are now my scorn, For I have found a way To cure diseases, when forlorn By your dull art, which may Patch up a body for a time, But can restore to health No more than chemists can sublime True gold, the Indies' wealth. That angel sure, that us'd to move The pool men so admir'd, Hath to her lip, the seat of love, As to his heaven, retir'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RICHARD BONE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AN INVITE TO ETERNITY by JOHN CLARE EARLY MORN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 8. DEPARTURE by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE THE BABIE by JEREMIAH EAMES RANKIN THE ALLIGATOR by BEATRICE WITTE RAVENEL STILL FALLS THE RAIN; THE RAIDS, 1940. NIGHT AND DAWN by EDITH SITWELL |