FOND, hapless man, lost in thy vain desire; Thy lost desire May now retire. She, like a salamander, in thy flame Sports with Love's name, And lives the same, Unsinged, impenetrably cold. Sure, careless Boy, thou slep'st; and Death, instead Of thine, conveyed His dart of lead. This thou unluckily at her hast sent, Who now is bent Not to relent, Though thou spend all thy shafts of gold. I prithee filch another fatal dart And pierce my heart; To ease this smart, Strike all my senses dull. Thy force devours Me and my powers In tedious hours, And thy injustice I'll proclaim Or use some art to cause her heat return, Or whilst I burn Make her my urn, Where I may bury in a marble chest All my unrest. Thus her cold breast, If it but lodge, will quench, my flame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GREEK SONG: 1. THE STORM OF DELPHI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RUTHERFORD MCDOWELL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE MOTHER'S HEART by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON ON MISS HELEN FAUCIT'S JULIET by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN ANNIVERS: BAPTISMT by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |