Tell me no more how fair she is, I have no minde to hear The story of that distant bliss I never shall come near: By sad experience I have found That her perfection is my wound. And tell me not how fond I am To tempt a daring Fate, From whence no triumph ever came, But to repent too late: There is some hope ere long I may In silence dote my self away. I ask no pity (Love) from thee, Nor will thy justice blame, So that thou wilt not envy mee The glory of my flame: Which crowns my heart when ere it dyes, In that it falls her sacrifice. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS by THOMAS MOORE SLEEP AT SEA by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI CAMPS OF GREEN by WALT WHITMAN TO FOREIGN LANDS by WALT WHITMAN ODE: INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TABULA SECUNDA IN NAUFRAGIO by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A SONG OF MARY by AGNES H. BEGBIE TO HIS WIFE WITH A KNIFE ON THE 14TH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING DAY by SAMUEL BISHOP |