HARK, fair one, how whate'er here is Doth laugh and sing at thy distress; Not out of hate to thy relief, But joy t' enjoy thee, though in grief. See! that which chains you you chain here; The prison is thy prisoner; How much thy jailor's keeper art! He binds your hands, but you his heart. The gyves to rase so smooth a skin Are so unto themselves within; But blest to kiss so fair an arm, Haste to be happy with that harm, And play about thy wanton wrist As if in them thou so wert dress'd; But if too rough, too hard they press, Oh they but closely, closely kiss. And as thy bare feet bless the way, The people do not mock, but pray, And call thee, as amaz'd they run, Instead of prostitute, a nun. The merry torch burns with desire To kindle the eternal fire, And lightly dances in thine eyes To tunes of epithalamies. The sheet's ti'd ever to thy waist, How thankful to be so embrac'd! And see! thy very very bands Are bound to thee, to bind such hands. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COLD HANDS WARM HEART by KAREN SWENSON COUNTRY SUMMER by LEONIE ADAMS WORK WITHOUT HOPE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE IMAGE IN LAVA by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS DAMON THE MOWER by ANDREW MARVELL MUIOPOTMOS, OR THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE by EDMUND SPENSER |