Nott the disdaynes of her prowde youthly mynde which laughes at love, and scornes to tread his trace Nor my desyres that saile againste the winde nor yett my death, depainted in her face Nor yett my hope ready to suffer wracke with broken masts devoyde off sayle or sturne Nor all the cares that do surcharge my Backe nor that straunge flame wherwith my vaines do burn Nor all my teares lett fall to quench that fire nor all my words which I in Idle waste Nor others love wherto I coulde aspire nor that dislyke that I throughe absence taste Can make me once my fancye to remove Such is the force of true and Constant love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW TO GET ON IN SOCIETY by JOHN BETJEMAN THALATTA! THALATTA!; CRY OF THE TEN THOUSAND by JOSEPH BROWNLEE BROWN ODE TO WISDOM by ELIZABETH CARTER THE BALLAD OF CHRISTMAS by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE SUNSET AND SUNRISE by EMILY DICKINSON TORTOISE SHELL by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE |