No more unto my thoughts appear, At least appear less fair, For crazy tempers justly fear The goodness of the air; Whilst your pure Image hath a place In my impurer Mind, Your very shadow is the glass Where my defects I find. Shall I not fly that brighter light Which makes my fires look pale, And put that vertue out of sight Which makes mine none at all? No, no, your picture doeth impart Such value I not wish The native worth to any heart That 's unadorn'd with this. Though poorer in desert I make My self whilst I admire, The fuel which from hope I take I give to my desire. If this flame lighted from your Eyes The subject do calcine, A Heart may be your sacrifice Too weak to be your shrine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIGLOW PAPERS. 2D SERIES: 2. JONATHAN TO JOHN by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT; GEORGE III AND A DYING WOMAN IN WINDSOR FOREST by ROBERT SOUTHEY ROOTS AND LEAVES THEMSELVES ALONE by WALT WHITMAN THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE by ELINOR WYLIE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 48. AL-WADOOD by EDWIN ARNOLD THE ASYLUM by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE NOSEGAY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE WEDDING FEAST: 6 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH BALLAD TO THE TUNE - 'ONCE I LOVED A MAIDEN FAIR' by PATRICK CAREY |