HAD I a man's fair form, then might my sighs Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well Would passion arm me for the enterprize: But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies; No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell; I am no happy shepherd of the dell Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes. Yet must I doat upon thee, -- call thee sweet, Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication. Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet, And when the moon her pallid face discloses, I'll gather some by spells, and incantation. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LE MEDECIN MALGRE LUI by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS JUST & UNJUST by CHARLES SYNGE CHRISTOPHER BOWEN TO-NIGHT by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON PERPLEXITY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA FOR THERE IS NO HELP IN THEM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: THE COURT OF PENANCE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE MODERN JUDAS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 46 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |