Me thought, (last night) love in an anger came, And brought a rod, so whipt me with the same: Mirtle the twigs were, meerly to imply; Love strikes, but 'tis with gentle crueltie. Patient I was: Love pitifull grew then, And stroak'd the stripes, and I was whole agen. Thus like a Bee, Love-gentle stil doth bring Hony to salve, where the before did sting. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOD'S GRANDEUR by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS GOBLIN MARKET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MNEMOSYNE by TRUMBULL STICKNEY EHEU, FUGACES! by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS BATUSCHKA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE PUPPETS by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |