'TWAS not for some calm blessing to receive, Thou didst thy polish'd hands in shagg'd furs weave; It were no blessing thus obtain'd; Thou rather wouldst a curse have gain'd, Than let thy warm driven snow be ever stain'd. Not that you feared the discolouring cold Might alchemize their silver into gold; Nor could your ten white nuns so sin That you should thus penance them in, Each in her coarse hair smock of discipline. Nor hero-like, who on their crest still wore A lion, panther, leopard, or a boar, To look their enemies in their hearse; Thou wouldst thy hand should deeper pierce, And, in its softness rough, appear more fierce. No, no, Lucasta, destiny decreed That beasts to thee a sacrifice should bleed, And strip themselves to make you gay; For ne'er yet herald did display A coat where sables upon ermine lay. This for lay-lovers, that must stand at door, Salute the threshold, and admire no more: But I, in my invention tough, Rate not this outward bliss enough, But still contemplate must the hidden muff. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET WRITTEN IN THE FALL OF 1914: 3 by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY IDENTITY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH JIM DALLEY by ALEXANDER ANDERSON VERSES TO A FRIEND by BERNARD BARTON HER ANSWER by JOHN BENNETT (1865-1956) |