WHEN I began my Love to sow, Because with Venus' doves I plow'd, Fool that I was, I did not know That frowns for furrows were allow'd. The broken heart to make clods torn By the sharp arrows of Disdain, Crumbled by pressing rolls of Scorn, Gives issue to the springing grain. Coyness shuts Love into a stove; So frost-bound lands their own heat feed: Neglect sits brooding upon Love, As pregnant snow on winter-seed. The harvest is not till we two Shall into one contracted be; Love's crop alone doth richer grow, Decreasing to identity. All other things not nourish'd are But by Assimilation: Love, in himself and diet spare, Grows fat by Contradiction. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR THE NEW YEAR by EDWIN MARKHAM BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE DOLL by EDITH SITWELL SORROW by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE THE NINETEENTH OF APRIL, 1861 by LUCY LARCOM THERMOPYLAE by SIMONIDES OF CEOS ODE TO DUTY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |