LOOK not upon me with those lovely Eyes, From whom there flies So many a dart To wound a heart, That still in vain to thee for mercy cries, Yet dies, whether thou grantest, or denies. Of thy coy looks, know, I do not complain, Nor of disdain: Those, sudden, like The lightning strike, And kill me without any ling'ring pain, And slain so once, I cannot die again. But O, thy sweet looks from my eyes conceal, Which so oft steal My soul from me, And bring to thee A wounded heart, which though it do reveal The hurts thou giv'st it, yet thou canst not heal. Upon those sweets I surfeit still, yet I, Wretch! cannot die: But am reviv'd, And made long liv'd By often dying, since thy gracious eye, Like heaven, makes not a death, but ecstasy. Then in the heaven of that beauteous face, Since thou dost place A martyr'd heart, Whose bliss thou art, Since thou hast ta'en the soul, this favour do, Into thy bosom take the body too. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BARNEY HAINSFEATHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A GIRL'S THOUGHTS by ISAAC ROSENBERG TO W.P.: 1 by GEORGE SANTAYANA SLUG IN WOODS by EARL (EARLE) BIRNEY SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAY-BREAK by WALT WHITMAN |