I heard ye co'd coole heat; and came With hope you would allay the same: Thrice I have washt, but feel no cold, Nor find that true, which was foretold. Me thinks like mine, your pulses beat; And labour with unequall heat: Cure, cure your selves, for I discrie, Ye boil with Love, as well as I. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON BRODSKY'S COLLECTED by MICHAEL S. HARPER HALLOWED GROUND by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE UNSUNG HEROES by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 74 by ALFRED TENNYSON WELCOME GUEST by JEAN D. ARMSTRONG AN EPITAPH UPON THE DEATH OF HIS AUNT, ELIZABETH SKRYMSHER by RICHARD BARNFIELD |