Love's a thing, (as I do heare) Ever full of pensive feare; Rather then to which I'le fall, Trust me, I'le not like at all: If to love I should entend, Let my haire then stand an end: And that terrour likewise prove, Fatall to me in my love. But if horrour cannot slake Flames, which wo'd an entrance make; Then the next thing I desire, Is to love, and live i'th fire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JEALOUSY by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE CORRESPONDENCES; HEXAMETERS AND PENTAMETERS by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH WHEN I READ THE BOOK by WALT WHITMAN SORCERY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH RESIGNATION by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER EMPORIUM VERSUS NEW YORK, 1854 by JACOB BIGELOW THE ORANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTER by MATHILDE BLIND RED COTTON NIGHT-CAP COUNTRY; OR, TURF AND TOWERS: PART 1 by ROBERT BROWNING |